


Ben Can't Sleep

by ToothPasteCanyon (DannyFenton123)



Series: Ben's Dreams [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyFenton123/pseuds/ToothPasteCanyon
Summary: No, he can't. They'll find him again. He's out of his depth, and all his dreams have turned to nightmares. He needs help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Potentially triggering content - scroll to endnotes for further details.

                It’s a bar, of sorts. It’s hard to tell; sometimes it looks like a bar, but sometimes it looks like other things. Sometimes the image shifts, and it’s a fancy restaurant, with candlelit tables and tall glasses of wine and red napkins that look a little damp. Sometimes the ceiling seems to rise, and chandeliers hang down, glittering with thousands of hanging knives, suspended by the thinnest string.

                One line snaps, and it falls and sticks into the table, inches from his fingers. He picks it up. Inspects it. Leans forwards, and takes a bite.

                Crunchy. No, now it’s smooth, and it tastes like blood. He gulps it down, and sets the empty pint glass on the table.

                It’s a long bar counter, and when she looks up he can see mugs stacked up by the wall, along with bottles of strangely coloured liquid. One glows a neon green, and he watches as the cork pops off and it spays up into the air.

                The green stream pours neatly into a wine glass, and next to her a shadowy hand wraps wispy fingers around the stem. The dark being takes a sip from it, and looks at him with red eyes.

                “Blood of the innocents.” It says, by way of explanation.

                “Doesn’t look like any blood I’ve ever seen.”

                The shadow seems to smile. “Innocents come in so many strains, friend.”

                He nods. The shadow raises its glass in a toast, and he toasts it back. His pint is full again. He sits back, and now he’s leaning against the cool leather of a booth. His seat is in the corner, and the bar counter is on the far side of the room.

                It’s a little fancier now; white cloth is draped over the table – no, not quite white. The edge has red stains on it. Wine or blood? He tastes it.

                Mint. He likes mint.

                He tastes it again. And then he tears off a long strip and slurps it like spaghetti. The fabric dissolves in his mouth. He hears another rip, and looks up to see two little figures perched on his table, cutting little holes in the cloth.

                One’s red. One’s covered in spines. He growls, and they yelp and scamper off. He gathers the cloth up onto his plate, shooting glances around the bar.

                Now it’s darker, dingier. The ceiling leaks with something red, and shifting figures dance around the centre – or are they fighting? Hard to tell. He sticks his fork into his spaghetti and twirls it. The strands keep looping around the metal, over and over and over until there’s a good heart-sized clump on the fork and the spaghetti on his plate hasn’t gotten any smaller.

                He stares at it blankly for a moment. Red drips onto the strands. Then he shrugs, unhinges his jaw, and swallows it, fork and all.

                Still tastes like mint. He smiles.

 

* * *

 

                He’s still smiling. And then his eyes flutter open, and it fades as he takes in his surroundings.

                Popcorn ceiling. Pale beige, with a little crack right at his eyeline. There’s a dull whirr coming from the fan. It’s still quite dark out, but a soft light peeks out of the edge of his curtains.

                A second later, his alarm rings.

                BEEP BE- he turns it off. Then he sits up, stretches out his arms. Relaxes. Sniffs, rubs his nose. Works his jaw a little – that’s sore for some reason.

                He swings his legs over to the side and heaves himself up. His bed is just a blanket draped over half an uncovered mattress – he doesn’t bother to straighten it.

                A rumble comes from his stomach. He groans, and stumbles out of his room to go scavenge for something to eat. A strap to some bag nearly trips him up on the way to the door.

                There’s a weird smell coming from the kitchen, like rotten milk. Oh, lovely.

                He finds the culprit sitting on the table: a cold cup of tea, filled to the brim. It’s been left out overnight, judging by the gross film over the top. He wrinkles his nose and, seeing as the kitchen sink is full of dishes, ferries it over to the bathroom and pours it out there.

                He adds the mug to the sink pile and walks over to the pantry. He switches on a light, and squints as his eyes adjust. There’s… not much, honestly. A pack of opened spaghetti beckons to him, but he just rattles the box and puts it back down. A cereal bag slumps in the corner and he grabs that instead. A bowl of restaurant mints are sitting on the middle shelf and he takes one.

                No, two. The plastic crinkles in his fingers.

                He sets them down on the table, and goes over to the sliding door to the backyard. His school bag is sitting by his shoes; he rummages in that and brings out a battered sketchbook. The front cover is falling off, and most of the pages have been torn out. He takes out a pencil and walks back to the kitchen.

                The sun is starting to rise, and he sits there, one hand in the cereal bag, one hand carefully sketching something out on a blank page. Crunching on dry squares, the drawing slowly reveals itself.

                Spaghetti, wrapped around a fork in a heart shape. Strands knit together like muscle and snake around the shape like fat arteries, poking out the top and hanging limp from below, dripping.

                In his mind, he can see it beating. He can see the red oozing out from between the spaghetti stands, and he draws that. He crunches some more cereal, and he remembers how it felt to eat a heart.

                It’s strange. The dreams he has are always so disturbing, but he can’t bring himself to feel disgusted about them. They’re more… nostalgic. He faints at the sight of blood, but in the dreams it tastes so sweet he could drink a gallon. A shadowy figure talking to him about the many strains of innocents? He just finds himself nodding along like he knows this. Like he’s a different person… maybe not a good person.

                It’s messed up, he knows. But they’re only dreams, right? He can be as messed up as he wants in his head; it’s not hurting anybody.

                He flips through his sketchbook, through a knife plunged between the bones of a hand, through human eyes rolling off the table and squelching on the floor, through severed feet with grill marks on the heel and a living man tied up like a turkey, being sliced and served on plates while his screams are muffled by a red apple. And he tries to feel horrified, but all he can remember is how that tasted like lamb, with a bit of mint jelly.

                He went for seconds, he remembers.

                He’s a good person, really! Really. He doesn’t do that in real life. No eating people here, pinky promise.

                He checks the time. Time to go. He stuffs his face with another handful of cereal and closes it back up. After running the bag back to the pantry, he picks up his sketchbook and tears out his latest drawing. He sets it on the table, and starts to touch up the shading a little bit more – no, he didn’t have time. He was going to be late at this rate.

                He dashes back into his room and changes into a t-shirt and jeans. He hesitates, and walks over to a door at the end of the hallway. It’s dark, and closed.

                He knocks lightly.

                “Hey, mom.” He says. “I’m heading off to school. Love you.”

                There’s no reply. He still waits for one, a hopeful smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

                It doesn’t come.

                After a few seconds, he walks back to the sliding door and puts his sketchbook back in his bag. He shoulders it, pops a mint, and slips on his shoes.

                Then he walks outside. He goes around the yard to the front of the house, and starts walking down the street, his eyes looking up at the brightening sky and seeing nothing but beating hearts and tomato sauce.

                Ben smiles. It was a good dream.


	2. Chapter 2

                “Dude, your shirt smells.”

                “It does?” Ben sniffs his collar. “I don’t smell anything.”

                “Well, I do. Can’t you scoot back a bit? I can’t focus when you don’t shower.”

                “I shower.”

                “Suuuuure.”

                “I do, though. Dan. Dan.”

                Dan keeps his head down and writes on his notebook. After a moment, Ben sighs and looks to the front. “I do, though.”

                It’s a small classroom. The AC’s been set a little too low, and he feels goosebumps down his bare arms. He rubs them, shivers, and looks at the teacher lecturing in the front.

                He has not been paying a lick of attention. He leans over to Dan. “Dude, can I see your notes?”

                “Huh? Oh, hah, I haven’t been taking notes.” Dan leans back, revealing a couple of runes he’s scribbled on the corner of his notebook page. He shoots a smirk at Ben. “Watch this.”

                Ben watches him tear off the corner and gently blow on it. It glows blue and vanishes into thin air. A second later, somebody in the front row looks down and-

                _Whoom_!

Scraps of paper come flying out like confetti fired from a machine gun. The student yelps and falls right out of his chair, quickly being consumed by the pile. The teacher reaches down and grabs the original spell. He tears it in half, and it stops replicating.

                “I am sick and tired of these _fucking spells_!” A vein pulses in his forehead as he throws the paper down. “Whoever’s doing this better fess up quick or I will take this to the principal! You want to be expelled?! This is not a god damn joke! Four times in the past week! Four! Times!”

                Tense silence. Students staring down at their notebooks, not making eye contact. Dan’s lip twitches up.

                “I’m fucking done with this class!” The teacher kicks the pile of paper, and it yelps. “Somebody clean this mess up right now before I lose it!”

He sits back in his seat, looks over at Ben and winks.

 

 

* * *

 

                Lunch. Dan sits in the middle of a flight of stairs, surrounded by a gaggle of friends. Ben sits just below them, sucking on a mint. He draws and vaguely pays attention to the conversation happening above him.

                “And he kicked Jeremy!”

                “Yooo, no way!”

                “Yeah. He was covered paper; Mr Bonder didn’t notice him at all. I heard him apologizing to him after class, but dude, I got him to kick a kid.” Dan smiles that bright, dangerous smile of his. “I’m gonna break that man.”

                “He’s gonna kill you if he ever finds out.”

                “Not even worried about that. He doesn’t know a thing about how to trace a rune.”

                Somebody’s trying to go upstairs. Ben scoots, and he watches them awkwardly squeeze past Dan as he leans forward.

                “Listen, I got big plans next week. Bonder’s gonna lose his mind.” He crosses his arms. “I’m gonna sneak into his class before dawn, and I’m gonna draw a Midas rune on his grading pen. Delayed reaction: he’s gonna be carrying all his papers home and they’ll just turn to gold on him.”

                “Gold?” Somebody laughs. “Do you hate this guy or are you trying to set him up for retirement?”

                “No, no, Midas gold is worthless. But it weighs the same as the real stuff.” Dan leans back on the railing. “I bet it’ll break his foot.”

                “That’s crazy, dude.”

                “Crazy is the plan.” He looks away from his group of friends and fixes his attention on Ben. “Hey, Ben. Ben!”

                “Hmm?”

                “Did you hear that?”

                Ben nods absently. “Yeah. Sounds, sounds cool, dude.”

                Dan imitated his voice. “Sounds cooool, duuuude.”

                Ben looks up from his drawing. “What was that?”

                “Nothing!” His grin stretches. “Hey, Ben. I bet you’d be too scared to sneak into Bonder’s classroom on Monday and draw a Midas rune on his pen.”

                An ‘Oooo’ goes up from Dan’s friends. Ben considers it, and then he shrugs.

“Yeah. That’s accurate.”

                “I don’t- wait.” Dan’s smile drops. “No, what I mean is, I bet I could do it without getting caught. I bet you couldn’t.”

                “Yup. I’d probably get caught.”

                Dan scowls, and he sits back on the stairs.

                “What’s the matter with you, dude? You’re no fun anymore.” His eyes wander down to the sketchbook. “What are you drawing? One of your creepy dream things?”

                Ben stares at the page, at the grinning shadow with the wine glass full of blood. He doesn’t reply.

                “Dan,” One of Dan’s friends whispers. “What’s the dream thing?”

                “Oh, yeah. You guys haven’t seen it, huh? Ben draws these weird little… I don’t even know how to describe it. Ben. Ben! What are they, again?”

                “They’re kind of private.”

                “Ooh, okay.” Dan reaches down and grabs the sketchbook. “Look, I’ll just show you.”

                Ben holds onto it, but Dan tugs and he lets go. He sits and watches Dan open it up, pass it around with some stupid little narrations – ‘So, this one is clearly some emo guy getting a drink.’ He watches Dan’s friends look on first with surprise, then disgust, then with building laughter.

                And when the bell rings, and the laughter dies off as they disperse to their various classrooms, Dan hangs back, and hands back the sketchbook.

                “Cool drawings, man.” He notices Ben’s expression. “What? I was just showing them around! They liked them too.”

                Ben doesn’t say anything. 

“Seriously?” Dan rolls his eyes. “Get over yourself. I was just trying to include you. If you want to be alone so much, why don’t you sit somewhere else? Huh?” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks away. “Think about that.”

                “Have a nice weekend.” Ben says. Dan waves.

 

 

* * *

 

                He was too cold in school, and now he’s too hot as he stumbles home. His backpack’s too heavy, and his shirt’s too sweaty… it’s a relief when he spots his street coming up.

                Down the road. Around the back. Through the sliding door. The rush of AC feels like heaven as he steps inside. Ben drops his bag and just sinks into the nearest couch.

                What a day. What. A. Day.

                It’s very quiet here. He starts to close his eyes… No. He’s got stuff to do.

With a groan, Ben heaves himself up. He fishes out a worksheet from his school bag and brings it over to the table. The drawing from this morning, he notices, is still there. Untouched. He looks over at the counter; there’s nothing on it, and no new dishes in the sink.

                He frowns.

Not an angry frown – more a thinking one. It’s very quiet here. He slides the drawing back and forth across the table, and it’s the only sound in the house. Swish, swish. Back, forth. What to do.

                He picked a tupperware out of the cupboard, and filled it with cereal. The last clean cup was sitting above the stove; he ran that under the tap. With them both in hand, Ben made his way back to the door at the end of the hall.

                He knocks on the dark wood.

                “Hello?” Ben whispers. After a pause, he knocks again and speaks louder. “Mom? Can I come in?”

                No response. Ben knocks again. It’ so very quiet here, not a sound beyond his own breathing. He scuffs his shoes against the tile, and knocks one more time.

                After a good few seconds, he makes up his mind. He reaches for the door handle.

                “Okay, I just want to drop something off.” The door creaks as he opens it, and he cringes. Light sneaks in through the opening gap and lands on a bed at the end of the room.

                The room. It’s dark, and the curtains are drawn; light still glows from behind the fabric, but it illuminates nothing. Most of the carpet is covered with little piles of papers and boxes, with a thin path from the door to the bed to the bathroom. The fan isn’t on, and there’s a stuffiness, a staleness in the air that makes you feel like you can’t take a full breath.

                Ben breathes, and cautiously approaches the bed. There’s a mess of covers across the top, and one of the pillows is lying on the floor. As he gets closer, he can see the mess rise and fall slightly. There’s a darkness strewn over the remaining pillow, like hair.

                He reaches the side she’s on. The bedside table is filled with clutter; her phone is balanced atop an empty mug and a hefty three ring binder battles for space with the lamp. Two more mugs are stashed by the legs, and one of them still looks half full.

                She makes a noise, and Ben looks over at her. She’s still buried in the covers, but he gets a distinct feeling she’s watching him. He wants to say something – he opens his mouth a little – but nothing comes to him. He puts the binder on the floor and carefully puts the cereal and water in its place. He reaches down and grabs the mugs on the floor.

                Be looks over at her, one last time, before he turns and leaves the way he came. The door creaks as he tries to close it quietly.

                Back in the kitchen. It’s brighter here, colder here, and unbearably quiet. He pours the stuff in the mug away, and the sink glugs twice before going silent.

                He goes over and sits on the couch. He slumps, then he lies down.

                And then Ben closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

                Chatter. He hears it before he sees anything. Gradually, he comes to find himself sitting at a table on the ceiling, looking down at all the figures below.

                A knife is in his hands. He lets go, and watches it fall and splash into someone’s glass. Ripple. Ripple. The table seems to ripple and wood drips like melted ice cream, turning a dark red as it falls.

                The room seems to fill with red. Soon it sloshes just inches away from his head, and he reaches up to touch it. It reaches too, and it grasps his arm and pulls him in.

                He hangs there for a moment, nothing to see but red and nothing to hear but a muted roar. Two eyes seem to open and stare at him. He waves.

                “You.” Says a voice. “I _know_ you, don’t I?”

                He shrugs. The red drains, and he finds himself sitting in a bar stool. A figure with arms too long and legs too thin stands behind the counter, washing glasses.

                It looks at him expectantly, and he taps the counter. “Give me the best stuff you have.”

                It drops the glass, which bounces. “How dare you?” It stabs a long finger at him. “I serve no master! _I will shred your soul for such an insult_!”

                The figure bares long teeth and lunges at him. Just before it touches him, it is enveloped in a shining blue light, and it disappears with a cry. He looks down and sighs. No drink.

                “Here.” A hand nudges a glass towards him. “This is your favourite.”

                He looks over. Sitting next to him is… it’s hard to describe what it looks like. Its form seems to shimmer and shift as he watches, but those eyes are the same as what he saw floating in the red. He looks down at the glass, and sees a faintly glowing purple liquid.

                He tries it. It’s disgusting.

                “No?” The eyes frown. “Strange. Who are you?”

                “Who do you think I am?” He shoots back. The eyes narrow, and there’s a pain on his hand. The glass is melting into his palm.

                “Heh. Pain.” He hears himself saying. “That's hilarious.”

                “It is you, isn’t it?”

                “Is who?”

                “Don’t play dumb with me.” The eyes lean forwards. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back, master? How long have you been here?”

                He tries to look away, but the entire bar seems to be fading around him. The glass has disappeared from his hand. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

                “I see. You won’t discuss this here.” It stands. “Let us go back to your territory. I’ve managed to keep my piece of it from _him_. I hope you will be pleased.”

                He just stares at the eyes. Everything has faded to black around them, and he’s floating again. Floating in nothingness.

                The eyes shoot him a look. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

                “What am I waiting for?”

                “What is the- are you incapable?”

                “Incapable of what?”

                “You are.” The eyes seem to grin. “You’ve become weak. Pathetic. You were seeking refuge at the Midway Bar, weren’t you?”

                He tries to step back. The eyes advance, a hungry shine in them. It touches his shoulder, and he feels a coldness that stabs at his very soul.

                “Not just weak. Not just weak!” Its voice softens. “ _Human_.”

                Claws dig into his shoulder.

                “How far you have fallen, Bill Cipher. Once you were the most powerful demon in the world.”

                Eyes burning into his. All he can see is the glee, the teeth, the pain dragging down his arm. He tries not to laugh.

                “But now? _You’re mine_.”

                It lunges, and-

 

* * *

 

                Ben opens his eyes. He jolts up, and tumbles off the couch in a panic, flailing and banging his head on the tile.

                “Agh! Ohhh…” He rubs his head. “Ow… jeez…”

                What was that? He’d never had a dream like that before. That was… terrifying. Genuinely terrifying. And so real: he can still feel the pain in his…

                In his shoulder.

                Ben stops dead, and stares at the blood running down his arm.


	3. Chapter 3

                It’s dark outside. A street lamp shines against his blinds, and dim shadows play on the ceiling as the fan whirrs. Ben lies on his bed, hands clutching the covers, eyes staring up at the shapes they make.

                His shoulder still hurts. It’s a dull ache now, smothered with every band aid in the house, but he can’t escape it. Every time he moves, he can feel the marks those claws made.

Claws that had been in his dreams, yet hurt him in real life. How? How did that happen? Had it not been a dream at all? Where on earth had he been going every time he went to sleep?

                Ben shifts his arm, and winces. All this time, his dreams had been _real_. All this time. And, unless he could figure something out fast, he’d be going there again.

                The shadows shift above him. They almost look like figures, staring down at him with hungry eyes and long claws. Ben feels like a young kid again, scared of monsters coming to prey on him as he slept.

                He wonders, with a dry smile, if running to his mom’s room would make everything better. That’s a nice thought.

                His eyes are heavy. Despite his best efforts to keep them open, the warm bed is lulling him to sleep. He can’t stave it off forever.

                They close.

                Besides… he thinks, with sluggish thoughts. He’s had these dreams his entire life. Maybe… maybe it’ll… it’ll be fine…

 

* * *

 

                He’s floating in space. In front of him: a door. It’s open wide, and a hearty light streams from the inside. Chatter comes through, indistinct yet inviting, compared to the cold silence all around him.

                He reaches for it. The handle is inches from his fingers…

                It closes. No, someone has closed it.

                “Oops.” A shimmering hand lets go of the door, and it disappears altogether. A pair of eyes fix on him. “That was close. You almost made it, Bill.”

                “You were waiting for me?” He feels himself smile. “I’m flattered.”

                “Oh, I wasn’t going to let go of you that easy. You pulled a sneaky little human trick on me, didn’t you? Just before I could have you.” The eyes twinkle. “That’s okay, though. You see, that gave me a little time to think, and I realised, I can’t just eat you! You see, you’re steak. Filet mignon. Perfectly seasoned, so soft and juicy and helpless. I… I could just…”

                The eyes float towards him. Cold claws trace along his jawline, and cup his cheek. They squeeze, and hunger burns in its stare. Drool drips onto his shoulder from a mouth he can’t see. It eats through his clothes and freezes his skin.

                “Oh, you’re making this hard for me.” Says the eyes, and it pulls back. “No. No, I’m going to savour you, Bill.”

                A claw circles his eye, and runs down the bridge of his nose. It hesitates, there, and then comes down and slashes his chest. He reels back, and sees the eyes taste the red running down its shimmering fingers. They roll up into its head, and it lets out a rumbling purr.

                “Oh, that’s good. That’s perfect. And it’s all mine, all mine, all mine!”

                He tries to step back. The eyes fix on him, and it seems to smile.

                “Waking up, are you? That’s okay, human. Sooner or later, _you’ll come back to me_.”

                Ben feels it before he even opens his eyes; pain running like a hot iron straight down his chest. He jerks up, and immediately regrets it.

                That hurts. That really, really hurts. He rolls out of bed and stagger-sprints to the bathroom, his hand pressed over the dampness on his shirt. Almost afraid to look, he hesitates before he turns on the lights.

                Yep. Yep, that’s a… that’s quite a bit of blood. Ben feels faint again. He fumbles for the first aid kit – no more band aids.

                Ben pauses, and then curses under his breath. It feels weird to swear, but it seems appropriate right now. He pulls some of the weird gauze strips out and stares at them.

                He doesn’t know how these work. He doesn’t know how any of this works. Maybe he should call an ambulance.

                …No. He shouldn’t. How would he even begin to explain this?

                He picks up the gauze. This was fine. He could figure this out.

                Probably.

 

* * *

 

                ‘when do u need stitches’

                ‘can dreams hurt u in real life’

                ‘how long can u stay awake for’

                Ben rubs his eyes as he types in that last one. It was three o’clock in the morning and his bed was starting to look really inviting. At least he didn’t have school in the morning, right?

                He paces around the room, itching his chest. That was one thing he had going for him.

                That thing that kept attacking him… what did it call him again? Bill something - Bill Cipher.

                He types it into his phone, and thank god, it brings up results. Squinting at the words, he begins to read.

                _Bill Cipher (unknown-2012) was an elite dream demon responsible for bringing about the Transcendence. He was defeated by Dipper Pines and has been inactive ever since._

                A demon? He frowns. What on earth is he getting mixed up with a demon for?

                What was the thing attacking him? Was that a demon too?

                ‘big eyes no body demon’

                Damn. That wasn’t as successful.

                Ben sighs, but he pricks up when he hears a door creak open. He listens intently as footsteps shuffle down the hall, and throws himself into bed as they pass him. The footsteps pause just outside his door… and then head towards the kitchen.

                A kettle starts to boil. Ben turns on his phone again. Demons. How can he find out more about demons?

                He thinks, and then he goes into his messages and finds Dan’s number.

                _Need ur help_ , he types. _Call me when u get this plz_

                Dan’s parents are demonologists. They could help with this. And maybe-

                A knob turning. Ben starts as he hears his door open. He turns off his phone and throws the covers over himself, and tries to lie still.

                Footsteps, muffled on the carpet. Just on the edge of his vision, he can see a dark figure looming down on him. She stays there, and he tries to keep his breathing slow, like he’s been asleep for hours. He’s not very good. She’s probably not buying it.

                She leans over, and gently pulls the covers up to his chin. She smooths back his hair, and places the faintest kiss on his forehead; only the rustle of her breath showed she was there at all. Then she steps away, and closes the door behind her.

                Footsteps down the hall. A creak as her door opens, and closes. Silence.

                Ben waits a second more, and then throws off the covers and gets out of bed. He can’t fall asleep. He has… how many hours until Dan’ll call him back?

                Oh, it’s only three thirty. He rubs his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on.

                This is going to suck.


	4. Chapter 4

                “Wassup?”

                “Hey, Dan. Did you get my text?”

                “That one you sent out while you were watching the sun rise?” Dan snorts. “What were you doing up that late, man? And what are you doing up so early now?”

                “It’s two in the afternoon.”

                “Yeah, I know. And?”

                Ben squints at his reflection in the mirror. “I was just wondering when you were gonna call me.” He rubs the bags under his eyes. “When you received my – my urgent - text, I was just wondering if you got it.”

                “Yeah, yeah. I got it. What’s up?”

                “You got it, and then you didn’t…” He sighs. “Nevermind. Dan, I need one of your parents’ demonology books.”

                Ben could hear him sit up. “You need a demonology book?” Dan sounded surprised. “What do you need to su- wait a minute.”

                Ben waits, and listens to the creak of Dan’s door closing. Dan continues in a lower voice.

                “What do you need to summon a demon for?”

                “I don’t need to summon a demon.” Ben pauses. “I think. I just need to look through it. Like a giant list of demons, and… what they look like.”

                “Why?” A note of concern slips into his voice. “Dude, you really don’t sound good. What’s going on?”

                “I didn’t get much sleep. I’ll be fine, I just need one of those books.”

                “I mean, I don’t really have access to them-“

                “Yes, you do. You use them for your pranks. You showed me, remember?”

                Dan pauses. “Oh. I guess I did. But I’m still not technically supposed to have them – and if my parents found out I gave one to you they’d literally kill me. You don’t know how much those things are worth.”

                “Please, Dan.”

                He makes a long, uncertain noise.

                “Please. You’re my friend.” Ben rubs his arm. “I really need this.”

                “I don’t know...”

                “Just for a day. I’ll do anything.”

                “Anything?” Dan’s voice suddenly perks up. “Really?”

                Ben sighs. “Within reason, yes.”

                “Aww, dude, you don’t trust me, do you?”

                “Look, can I please borrow a book?”

                “I mean, you _can_ borrow a book.” Even over the phone, Ben could hear that dangerous smile stretch across Dan’s face. “That’s physically possible, sure. But may you borrow a book?”

                Ben rolls his eyes. “Please. I don’t have… okay. May I borrow a book?”

                “Depends. How much do you want it?”

                “I want it. I really want it.”

                “Do you want it enough to… say, help me out with a little something I got planned for Mr Bonder on Monday?”

                “The Midas thing?” Ben sits down on his bed. “I don’t want to do your pranks, Dan. Can I do something else? Have you got chores, or-“

                “I’m not gonna pick something boring like chores! You said you’d do anything for the book.”

                “Within reason.”

                “This is totally reasonable! And it’s fun, too!” Dan chuckles. “You’d seriously rather be scrubbing toilets instead of sneaking around the school?”

                Ben sinks back into the covers, and then shakes himself and stands up. “Look, can I do something that won’t get me in trouble, please? Can I pay you?”

                “Oh, sure. Average cost of one of these babies is six hundred dollars.”

                “Six-“

                “Buuut, I’ll give you a friend discount because I like you. Three hundred dollars sound good?”

                Ben shakes his head. “I can’t- you know I don’t have a job. Can’t I give you, like, twenty?”

                “Down from three hundred dollars? I don’t like you that much!”

                “Please, Dan. I’m kind of desperate here. I just need to look at it for one day.”

                “Desperation? That just means you’ll pay more, right?”

                Ben sighs; he’s impossible when he’s like this. He shakes his head. “Look, just forget it. I’ll find something else.”

                “Oh, yeah? You gonna summon a demon with Wikipedia?” Dan chuckles again; the sound is grating. “It’s your funeral.”

                “You’re just messing with me. I don’t have time for this.”

                “I am not messing with you! I’m making you an offer.” He pauses, and takes a breath. “Okay, I get it, I get it. So maybe you’re not loaded enough to buy it, and you’re not gonna be brave enough to earn it. Right?”

                Dan didn’t say anything else. Ben shifts his feet. “I gotta go, dude-“

                “Fifty dollars. Can you do fifty dollars?”

                Ben pauses. “Really?”

                “Just for my buddy.”

                “Oh.” He walks over to a piggy bank on his desk. “I don’t know if I have fifty, but I can-”

                “Then twenty.” He speaks quickly. “That’s what you offered, right?”

                “Yeah. Yeah, okay, I can do twenty.” Ben frowns. “Are you sure? Why are you turning around on this all of a sudden?”

                “What?” Dan breaks out into a laugh “I don’t need a reason to be nice to my best friend! Just trying to help you out, you know? Help you be brave. Besides, buddies don’t let buddies summon demons from the internet.”

                “I’m not trying to summon a demon, I’m-”

                “Well, all the better, right? Right. I’ll meet you outside school on Monday, six o’clock. Sounds good to you?”

                Ben’s smile drops right off his face. Monday? He can’t wait that long! “Actually, can we-“

                “Sounds good to me! See you then, buddy!”

                He hung up. Ben blinked. “Wait... Monday?”

                His eyes droop as he tries to dial Dan again. It rings, but doesn’t pick up. Ben grits his teeth – what a jerk. Monday? How was he going to get to Monday? He could hardly stay awake right now!

                Ben’s fists are clenched. He breathes, and relaxes. Okay. It’s okay. At least he has a plan now.

                Sort of. No, no, it’s a plan; if he finds out who the eye-guy is, he’ll be able to stop him and everything will go back to normal.

                Ben leans his forehead on the mirror, staring at the deep bags under his eyes.

                He blinks - once. Slowly.

                Just hold on till Monday. Two nights, and then it’ll be like this never even happened.

 

* * *

 

                You know what’s good at keeping you up? Showers. Cold showers. Ben’s taken three already. But also schedules. Having stuff to do. Clean the house! That’ll keep him busy.

                How do you run a dishwasher again?

                Eh, forget the dishes. The kitchen needs a good sweep. That’s what he’ll do. That’s… that’s what he’ll…

                Ben jerks up, blinking hard. No sleep! No sleep! He’s fine. Everything is fine. Phew, close one.

                Just two more nights of this. And, hey, it’s nearly dark out!

                “He’s so close.” Ben leans hard on his broom. “I… I’m so close, I mean. Yeah.”

                His arm is hurting, so he ditches the broom. You know what would make him feel better? Drawing. He’ll do it standing, so he won’t pass out.

                Ben rummages in his backpack for a long time before bringing something sketchbook-shaped to the kitchen counter. He looks down. Oh, it’s his math textbook.

                This is his sketchbook. Okay.

                …

                Right. Pencil.

                Ben get one, and notices a mint sitting at the bottom of his bag. He’s kind of hungry, he realizes. Yeah, his stomach is growling.

                He finds himself in the pantry. It’s dark out now, so he turns on a light. Bzzzing. It’s so quiet you can kind of hear it working.

                “Your shoe’s untied.” Ben looks down, and frowns. “Let me get that for you, sweetie.”

                He blinks. He’s not wearing shoes. What was he…? Oh, yeah.

                Ben grabs the cereal off the shelf. He also takes a fistful of mints from the bowl. Crinkle, crinkle.

                Alright, he’s at the counter again. Why doesn’t he have a chair? He pulls one up, and sits down. Picks up his pencil.

                What to draw? What to draw… He stares down at his blank white plate.

                Three mints appear on it. One, two, three.

                “There you go, sweetie.” His mother smiles at him. “I don’t think I was supposed to take so many. The lady looked at me funny.”

                Ben hears himself laughing. “Thanks, mom.”

                He picks up his fork.

                Pencil. He blinks slowly. It’s a pencil.

                He puts it to the page. Leans forward.

                “This is good, isn’t it? Just getting out of the house for a bit. Right? It’ll be a nice evening. Right?”

                “Yeah, mom.” Ben leans over the menu. “What are you getting?”

                She picks hers up. He watches her hesitate, and then tap the corners of the menu against the side of the table. The right, then the left, ending on right. Tap, tap, tap.

                “Heh…” She looks up at Ben and tries for a smile. “Sorry. That’s loud.”

                Tap, tap, tap. Left, right, left. Her smile crumples at the edges. “Sorry.”

                Tap, tap, tap. Ending on right.

                “It’s o-“ Ben jerks up. His face was smoshed against his sketchbook. A series of little squiggles run down the right of the page from where he tried to draw with his pencil. “Okay?”

                Stupid chair. He remembers why he didn’t want one. He pushes it to the side and flips over a new page on his sketchbook. Nice. White. New. He puts his pencil to it…

                And twirls. The spaghetti winds around his fork.

                “And you know, you’re going to think I’m crazy but I picked up one of those… it was the cutest little- how do you feel about a new shelf in your bedroom?” She laughs. “I’ve got the hammer, I’ve got the nails, I’ve got that little bubble thing… what’s it called again?”

                He shrugs.

                “Oh, we’re a pair, aren’t we?” She scrapes her fork on the plate, and freezes. Scrape, scrape. That's three, ending on right. She laughs again, a little nervously. “It’ll be good. You can put your sketchbooks up there!”

                “That’d be cool. Thanks, mom.”

                “Or we can put up a frame! We can frame some of them!”

                “I don’t know if you’d want to frame them…”

                “Why not?”

                Ben shrugs. “They’re kinda weird.”

                “They’re good! You’ve really got a knack for them, Ben. I loved the… the eyes one you did. Them just hanging from the ceiling.” She shakes her head. “Wow. I couldn’t draw something like that. So what if they’re weird? If you like it, you do it!”

                “Oh, okay.” He pauses. “I still wouldn’t hang them up, though.”

                “Fair enough. Do whatever make you happy, Ben.” She stares at him, still smiling, but the warmth seems to fade. “Just be happy. When you’re happy, I’m happy. Okay?”

                “Okay, Mom.”

                She puts down her fork. “I know things have been… weird, um, with me. I’m sorry. But it’s going to be better, okay? I’m going to be better. I promise.”

                Ben smiles. “Okay, Mom.”

                She nods. The warmth comes back. “Where’s those mints? You’ve already polished them off, haven’t you?”

                “Oh, yeah. I like mint.”

                “I do too.” She snorts. “We should take the bowl with us!”

                Ben looks down at his plate. It’s dark in the car, and now it’s a sketchbook. Eyes are drawn hanging by their optical nerves from the ceiling, shining light onto a shadowy bar. He’s adding more shading as he hears the doors unlock.

                She tumbles into the car, giggling. “Come on, come on, we gotta go. Oh, my gosh.”

                “Huh?”

                “Take this.” She hands him a bowl of mints. “I did it. I can’t believe I did it!”

                “You took the mints?”

                She throws the car into reverse. “Yup! I just took ‘em and ran! Now we’ve got mints forever!”

                Ben laughs in disbelief. He watches his mother sit there, hands on the steering wheel.

                “Uh, aren’t you gonna go?”

                She doesn’t move.

                “Mom?”

                The bowl makes a strange noise. Ben looks down, and it’s full of cockroaches, skittering out and tumbling onto his lap. He stares at them, and looks back up at the driver.

                Its head slowly turns, and reveals two familiar eyes. They seem to grin.

                “ _You’ve come back to me, Bill_.”

                It reaches out an arm, and grabs his shoulder.

                “Let’s not leave so soon this time. You humans need to rest, so rest.” The seat seems to recline. The roof of the car is gone somehow. Only blackness can be seen above him. “Sit back. Relax. I’ll take care of the dreams.”

                It floors the accelerator, and the car flies forwards. Ben can’t see where it’s going, but after a moment it seems to go off a cliff. They’re falling, falling, falling, and the eyes are laughing.

                “What’s so funny?”

                “I’ve been dying to take you back here!”

                Something is coming up fast. Something red. Ben can see it getting closer as the car spins, closer, closer-

                _Crash_.


	5. Chapter 5

                Red. Dark red. Pain. Horrors he couldn’t help but laugh at, even when he is dying to scream. Dying? He feels like he’s dying. The pain in his legs – it was like being put through a shredder. Muscles and sinew flap like strips of tissue paper in the wind, feet hanging on by nothing but a stringy tendon. Holy shit, that hurts. And it keeps hurting, pain tearing deeper and deeper, laugher – his and someone else’s – turning more and more breathless. He gasps for air, but he’s drowning. Drowning in darkness.

                Red. Light red. The sun shining through his eyelids. Ben opens them wide.

                He’s here, on cold stone tiles. The kitchen counter looms above him. A dead cockroach lies belly-up by his ear. He startles and jerks away, but his _legs_ -

                Oh, that hurt. He has to close his eyes again. Breathes deep, and rides out the pain. When it dies down, he’s afraid to look.

                Ben sits up slowly. His back aches from lying on the floor; he grunts a little as he comes to. Then he looks down.

                His pajamas are…red. Deep, dried patches run down from his knees to the tips of his socks. Oh, they’re even on the soles of his feet. He twitches his toes, and takes a sharp breath.

                “What the hell…” Ben starts to roll up his pajamas. “What the- oh, my god.”

                It’s gruesome in there. At first it just looks red, but the longer he looks, the harder it is to contain the rush of horror creeping up his windpipe and urging him to scream. All over his shins, little triangles have been carved into his skin. Each triangle is no bigger than a penny, each cut that forms them unnaturally straight, and deep. His clothes had stuck to his scabs, and it hurt to pull them away. He stops and sits back, mouth open, staring.

                What on earth was he going to do? He just… he didn’t even know where to start.

                “Oh my god.” He tries to stand up. The soles of his feet sting like nothing he’s ever felt before. “Oh, my god.”

                Ben staggers to his feet, gripping the couch for support. He stumbles along the length of it, and then heel-walks his way to the hall. His mother’s room hides at the dark end; he leans hard on the wall and opens his mouth.

                “Mom?” A quaver makes it into his voice. He clears his throat. “Are-are you up? I need your, um, help with something. Mom? Mom? …Mom?”

                No answer. He grits his teeth, and stumbles into his bedroom. He lets himself fall onto the bed, and then he sits up and looks around.

                His phone is on his desk. He reaches over, grasps it, and dials a short number. Then he holds it to his ear. It doesn’t ring very long; his throat catches when he hears a stranger’s voice on the other end.

                “911, what is your emergency?”

                His eyes shoot around the room. His bed, his clothes hanging off the back of his chair, an empty water bottle, a wooden plank leaning on the side of his desk – that was going to be a bookshelf at some point.

                “Hello? Is anyone there?”

                Ben hangs up. He lets out a breath, and leans back on his bed. The mattress feels like heaven on his sore back… No! No, he can’t go to sleep.

                A triangle pattern peeks out at him from the end of his pajamas. No. He absolutely cannot go to sleep again.

                …

                What can he do?

                Ben checks his phone; it’s Sunday, nine o’clock. That’s… twenty one hours until he can go get the book from Dan. Less than a day. Less than a day. He’s so close.

                Okay.

                Leaning forward, Ben tests his weight on the floor. Bedsprings groan, and his feet sting. With a face like he’s chewing lemons, he stands up and limps for the door.

                He’s going to get his sketchbook.

 

* * *

 

                There was an old drawing Ben did, back when he was, oh, eight or nine years old. He called it the ‘Dad-bug’, and it got him some concerned calls home when the teachers spotted him working on it. It was from one of his more memorable encounters at the bar in his dreams.

He was sitting at the front, and the most extraordinary thing came and hunched over next to him. It was headless, and had two long feelers sticking out of its collar that flicked around erratically, touching the bar, touching the ceiling, touching the glass in front of it and leaving a strange smear on the side. It had a human body, human clothes, but its skin was taut, pushed up like a tent in places by something under the flesh.

                It leaned an elbow on the counter, and he giggled. What a funny looking creature.

                The feelers twitched. One of them shot out in his direction, and touched his arm; it was cold and moist, with spiny hairs that poked at his skin. When it pulled back, it left behind a greasy yellowish substance.

                “Gross,” He said, and tried to rub it off with his suit. But his scarf wouldn’t come off. “Do you mind?”

                The creature made a noise and leaned its whole body forwards. Wine glasses backed away as it pulled itself halfway onto the table, its feet standing tiptoed on its stool. It quivered and made a strange noise; something slid out of where its neck should’ve been and plopped on the table. Then it sat back, and with a jerky motion it pushed the thing over to him.

                It was a mug. It looked almost brand new except for a chip on the rim – white and shining, with ‘#1 Dad’ written in black on the side.

He tipped it slightly and looked into the mug. There was a thin layer of purple liquid. As he watched, the mug cracked a little more, the liquid gave off a faint hiss. The creature made some kind of urgent chittering sound, so he brought it up to his lips and tried it.

It was really gross. He coughed and spluttered. The creature was still looking at him, its shoulders angled in his direction. It seemed to be waiting for something.

                Eyes shut tightly, he finished the mug. His throat burned, but the creature seemed pleased. It stumbled off the stool, gave a stuttering bow, and left the bar.

                He still had the mug. He still has the mug; it’s sitting in front of him right now. Ben picks it up, and turns it so he can see the chip on the rim. He sighs.

                You know, he really should have known something was up with his dreams. It shouldn’t have taken this weekend to figure it out – he should have known when this mug showed up in the cupboard. #1 Dad? Did he think his mom just got that at a store or something?

                Ben rubs his eyes. He doesn’t know. He didn’t think about it, really. Stupid. Stupid.

                He looks at his drawing. Long feelers. Disheveled suit. Hunched stance. Clutching the mug with corpse-pale hands. It looks better than the one he did when he was eight, for sure, but it’s a little shoddy. He’s tired, he’s so tired and his legs ache, and his arm stings and his chest hurts.

                Just to go to sleep, to go back to the bar like he always did without worrying about demons or anything like that… oh, he just wants everything to go back to normal. Would that be that so hard?

                Ben draws a line. It doesn’t look quite right. He grips the sketchbook… and then he takes a deep breath and pushes it away. He rubs his burning eyes. Why is this so hard? He just – he needs a break. Something. _Anything_.

                BEEP BEEP BEEP

                Ben jumps at the sound. “Wha-? My phone?”

                He stands up, winces, and hobbles his way to the bed. His phone is sitting on the blankets, beeping urgently at him. It’s his alarm for school… it’s his alarm for school! He’s made it!

                Ben picks up his phone, closes his eyes and just listens to that sweet beeping.

 

* * *

 

                There’s Dan, outside the school! Ben can’t stop a smile from sweeping across his face at the sight of him. As he watches, Dan turns and notices him. He has a smile of his own.

                “Dude,” Dan says, and snorts. “Are those – are those training wheels?”

                Ben brakes his bike and hops off. He winces as his feet hit the floor.

                “And what are you wearing?” He gestures to Ben’s puffy sweatpants and turtleneck shirt. “You know it’s gonna be, like, ninety degrees today, right?”

                “Have you got the book?”

                Dan pats his backpack. “Right here. Have you got the twenty dollars?”

                “Yeah, uh…” He fishes around in his pocket and draws out a crumpled note. “Here.”

                “Cool! Well, guess what? You can put it away.”

                Ben blinks slowly. “You… don’t want it?”

                “Nope!” Dan’s grin stretches. “I’ll let you borrow it for free!”

                “Really? Wow, tha-“

                “In exchange for a little favour.”

                Ben frowns. “What do you… what favour?”

                “You remember how to draw a Midas rune, Ben?”

                “What? A Midas- oh.” He shakes his head. “No, dude, I told you, I don’t wanna-“

                “I know, you told me you didn’t wanna. You made that pret-ty clear over the phone.” Dan rolls his eyes. “I don’t know when you got so boring, but I’m gonna get you back into the game. It’s easy: just go into Bonder’s room, etch the rune, and I’ll give you your book!”

                “What about… can’t I just pay you?”

                “Dude, you said you’d do anything. You think ‘anything’ is twenty dollars?”

                “But you said… we had a deal.”

                Dan imitates his voice. “Oh, we had a deawl. You lied to me.’ Get over yourself, man. Bonder’s gonna be here soon; you want the book or not?”

                “But-“

                “Do you want the book or not?”

                Ben grips the handlebars of his bike. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. “We had a deal, Dan.”

                “Oh, are you mad?” He laughs, and the sound grates on Ben’s ears. “What are you gonna do about it, Ben? What are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna-“

                It happens so fast. Dan’s face is inches from his, and his hand clenches. Every sleepless night, every frustrating day, every piece of pain and shred of stress that built up deep within him from the long, long weekend and even before that – Ben pulls back his fist and drives it all into Dan’s insufferable smile. There’s no stopping it. One second Dan is standing there, the next he is lying spread out on the pavement.

                Ben breathes. That felt… good. Still, when the red fades and he sees his friend moaning and clutching his jaw, he feels a twinge of guilt.

                “Uh…” Ben awkwardly steps around him, and rolls him over a little bit. He unzips the backpack. “Sorry. I need this.”

                It’s a deep red tome with yellow pages. It’s heavy.

                “Wow.” Ben hesitates, and then drops his twenty dollars onto Dan’s curled up form. “Thanks. I’ll bring this back. Sorry. Um… bye. Have a nice... bye.”

                He stuffs it in his own bag, gets on his bike, and pedals home. He has work to do.


	6. Chapter 6

                “Hi, this is Mom- Ben’s mom. He’s not coming in to school today, he’s sick.”

                “Okay. What’s your, uh, son’s name?”

                “Benjamín Rodríguez-García.” Ben clears his throat and continues his squeaky falsetto. “Sorry. I have a sick – I have a cold too.”

                “Wait, Benjamin? Why are you trying to call yourself out?”

                “What? No, no, Miss Jan, I’m not-“

                “I thought you were better than this.”

                He cringes. “No, I-“

                “Why aren’t you coming to school?” The receptionist’s voice lowers in concern. “Is everything okay?”

                “I… uh…” Ben holds the phone away from him. “Yes. Everything’s fine. Bye!”

                He hangs up in a hurry. Well, that was awful. How on earth did Dan ever do that?

                Nevermind. He could worry about that later. Ben grasps his backpack, and heaves it onto his bed. His shoulder twinges, and he does his best to ignore it.

                He unzips his backpack, and draws out the tome. It’s a hell of a book, a good deal bigger than any of his textbooks and so much heavier. The deep red leather binding is decorated with gold leaf; the shining title is almost impossible to read.

                That may just be him, though. The letters are moving in and out of focus as he tries to keep his eyes open. He squints, and reads:

_The Demonic Bestiary: a Comprehensive Encyclopedia on the Darkest of Beings_

_Lady Alaveda Pines_

_3rd edition, revised_

                That’s a hell of a title, too. If this doesn’t have what he needs, then nothing will.

                Ben lugs the tome onto his desk; the whole surface wobbles under its weight. He eases himself into a chair, rubs his eyes, and then leans forward and cracks it open.

                There’s a table of contents on the first page, filled with an intimidatingly large list of demons. Bill Ciper… B. He flips one, two, three, four sides to B, and runs his finger down the list. B-I, B-I: Bixatrix of Blades; Biyle the Retch’ed; Bizzardo, Grendel…

                Ben feels his head tilt forwards, and he jolts up. No sleep! No sleep! He keeps going.

                No more demons beginning with B-I – where’s Bill Cipher? He checks again, his eyes burning. This is kind of thing would bore him to tears even on a good day.

                Maybe he’s under C? Ben turns there, and begins the search. C-I, C-I…

                There it is! Cipher, Bill. Page six hundred and sixty six. He starts flipping.

                The page six hundred and sixty six is taken up by a some sort of giant circle. Little symbols line the edge, and in the centre is a triangular figure with a top hat and one huge eye. The eye… Ben stares into it; that looks like… he doesn’t know. The feeling that came over him just now, that’s…

                He blinks, and struggles to open his eyes again. After grappling with sleep for a few more moments, he looks at the picture again. His eyes slide down from the triangular figure, and there’s a couple lines written underneath the circle.

_Status: predominantly inactive (minor pull on Alcor the Dreambender)_

_Sacrifice: possessions of emotional value_

_Candle placement: hexagonal_

_Ease of summons: N/A_

                The next page has a bunch of paragraphs.

                _Bill Cipher_

_Inactive since 2012_

_Class: Dream_

_Rank: Elite_

_Responsible for the Transcendence. Visited dreams of victims and used manipulation and flattery to achieve his goals in the physical world. His susceptibility to bindings has not been documented, though it is assumed that higher-order bindings would be effective, especially if used in tandem…_

                It went on into great detail about bindings, summoning circles, and sacrifices. Ben skimmed the paragraphs, frowning as a headache blossomed just behind his eyes. This wasn’t useful. Was there a list of, like, demon friends, so he could find the shimmering guy?

                On the next page, there was a section named ‘Miscellaneous’.

_Released documents from the US government suggest Bill Cipher’s soul may have entered the reincarnation cycle since his destruction during the Transcendence. A human individual known as I.B. was suspected to be a possible reincarnation of Bill Cipher; I.B. was taken into custody and interviewed, but results were inconclusive and I.B. was promptly released._

_Though discounted in most academic circles, the existence of I.B. has sparked a discussion on the nature of demonic souls, whether they can enter the reincarnation cycle, and what the effects of a demonic soul in a human body would be. Without any evidence or means of testing, however, these hypotheses remain purely theoretical._

                Those two paragraphs. Ben struggles to read them at first, but a growing rush of fear lifts the tired fog in his brain and he flies through the words. A thought forms as he reads, a theory, a terrible theory.

                That demon at the bar called him Bill. Maybe…?

                No. That’s ridiculous. That’s ridiculous, right?

                Ben looks back at the summoning circle. Bill’s form, his outstretched hands, his sharp triangular shape that matches the cuts on his legs, his eye, his one eye draws him in. He stares, he stares at the image, unable to look away, unable to blink, to think, to breathe as a strange familiarity washes over him in waves, waves growing taller, taller and taller, towering over his head, swelling and blocking out all the light, all the light is gone the eye, the _eye_ remains-

                A hand on his shoulder. Ben jumps and whirls around, his scattered thoughts scrambling for some sort of excuse to give his mother-

                But he stops dead. The figure in his bedroom is not his mother. It’s shadow-black, with glowing golden brickwork, wings that stretch from wall to wall, pulsing blue fire that burns around its form, and eyes, eyes of pure, concentrated unadulterated fury.

                They are fixed on Ben, and he believes with all his heart he is going to die.

                “W̦͔͕̕h͙̬a͙͉̠̼ṯ̖̤ͅ _,_ ” Speaks the demon in a thousand voices. “d͖͡o̷̪̩̘̭͇͕͡ ̝̘̖̻͇̤͙͢͡yo̷̻̗͉̭̺͇̭u͖̼͈̤̣͢ ̶̡̪̦t͈̭̙̗̤̙̩̖͝h͈̭͍͕͇̥̕̕i̻̱ͅͅn̟̘̦̳͎̳͔͘͜k̭̳͍͈̹̝̥̕ͅ,̴̨̛̯̳̲̠ͅ **Y̨͈̲̩̬̤͚̮̕͜O҉̨̙̻̗͈̘̥̣̩̜͖͙͕̮̰̟ͅͅͅU̵̺͎͈̟͈̮͕̙̤̖͎͡'̷̵̴͚͓̘̦͖̫͈̣̫͎̩͈̹͕̗̼̥̱̟̕R͏̖͈͔̰͉̼͖̬̜̖̱̩̺̠Ę͜͏̦͔̬̰͈̭̝̥̞͓͇̞̤̟̣͚̟̖   ҉̬̘̖̬̝̼̙D̷̢͔̰̙̼͔̟͍̰͈̞̺̱̭͍̻̲͡ͅǪ̷̸̧̨̰͙̝̞̱I̡̬̥͔͘ͅŅ̠̝̫͕̦̦͈̟̼͓͍̲̳̰̼̬̩̘͖͟G̷̦̪̣͡͞?̵̼̣̲͚̫͈̞͙͇͉͇͞͠ͅͅ** ”

 

 

                Ben’s ears ring. His head swims. His heart pounds in his chest. He opens his mouth – to scream, to cry out, anything – and then he pitches sideways and falls to the floor, the waking world falling to shadow as his eyes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zalgo text:
> 
> “What,” Spoke the demon in a thousand voices. “Do you think, YOU'RE DOING?”


	7. Chapter 7

                 Ben only faints for a second. One moment he’s in the chair, and the next thing he remembers is someone gently tapping his cheek.

                “Hey. Wake up. Hey kid, wake up.”

                He’s tired. He groans and tries to swat the hand away.

                “Hey, I’m not asking.” The voice hardens. He freezes. “Wake up.”

                Ben opens his eyes, and sees a stranger leaning over him, a stranger in a suit with golden eyes and huge wings. His breath catches in his throat. Oh, that’s a demon. That’s definitely a demon. He’s dead.

                The demon grasps his arm. “Come on, get up. I’ve got some questions for you.”

                He’s pulled to his feet by a cold hand. As soon as he’s upright, he backs right up to the wall and stares at the demon with wide eyes.

                “What’s this?” The demon stabs a finger at the tome. “You’re not a demonologist. Why do you have this?”

                He shakes his head. Words don’t come. The demon lets loose a growl, and he flinches.

                “Ḏ̥oṉ͠'̨̙ṭ̭͎͖̳͜ play dumb with me! You were looking up Bill Cipher! What are you p̮̹l̡͓an̙͇͈̥n̶̺̰̬̮̩ͅi͎͈̼̮͕͡ͅͅnģ̘̜͙̻?”

                “I-I-I’m not! I’m not!”

                “Not what?”

                “I’m not!”

                “N͚̫̫̱̭̯ͅơ̗t͍̪̻̦̻ ̹̞WH̴̱̰̖̦̞A̪͖͙̗͚T͚̯̘?͖͠”

                “I’m not! I-I-“ He presses himself against the wall as the demon stalks closer. “I’m not planning- I’m not anything! I’m not planning anything, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

                The demon pauses.

                “I-I just got the book from my friend! His parents are demonologists and I-I got these dreams and I was trying to find a thing for it, I-I’m so sorry!”

                Ben shrinks down, breathing fast, watching the demon. It steps back, and takes a long look around the room, at the backpack on the bed, at the homework strewn across the desk, at the piles of clothes covering the carpet. Slowly, its glare fades, and its wings fold up against its back. When it speaks again, its voice is more measured.

                “You got this from your friend, you say?”

                Ben watches it reach over and close the tome. He nods quickly. “His… his parents are demonologists.”

                “I see.” It picks up one of his sketchbooks. “You’re still in school, aren’t you.”

                “High school, yeah... Sophomore year.”

                “I see. So, _Ben_ ,” Finally, it looks at him again. There’s still an edge of suspicion in its golden eyes. “What does a high school student like you want with a demonology textbook?”

                “I… uh, I was trying to find something. Or someone.”

                “Who?”

                “I don’t know. It’s, um, hard to explain.”

                “Enlighten me.”

                Ben clears his throat. “Okay. Uh… I always have these weird dreams where I’m at… like a bar, or something. But on Friday this guy came, he’s like, uh, shimmering, and he’s got eyes.” He cringes. “It’s hard to explain. But he’s been, um, cutting me.”

                “Cutting you?” The demon frowns. “What do you mean?”

                He tugs his turtleneck down, revealing the top of the gash on his chest. The demon sucks in a breath, and he gives a weak smile. “Yeah. And there’s one on my shoulder, and,” He leans over and rolls up his sweatpants. The triangle pattern cuts into his skin and his pajamas have dried into the dark red scabs. “This one’s the worst.”

                Looking up again, Ben sees horror written across the demon’s face. It struggles for words.

                “This was… since Friday?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Do you know who summoned it?”

                “Summoned? I don’t know. It’s been doing this in my dreams. I haven't seen anyone else.”

                “But I don’t understand, how is it hurting you in your dreams? Even dream demons can’t…” He cut himself off as Ben unrolled his pants. “Hang on. No, no, why haven’t you washed that?”

                “Washed what?”

                “You’ve got cuts all over your legs – that’s going to get infected.”

                “But I can’t get my pajamas off.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “I mean…” Ben shrugs helplessly. “They’re all stuck. It really hurts.”

                “Well, why didn’t you call someone, then? How long were you gonna sit there with…” He sighs. “Okay, okay. It doesn’t matter; just give me a piece of candy or something and I can heal that up.”

                He stares at the demon. The demon frowns.

                “What?”

                “Uh, no offence, but you were kind of trying to kill me earlier, and now you’re helping me?”

                “I wasn’t trying to kill you.” He rolls his eyes. “But fine, I see your point. No deals; I’ll just get you to a hospital and-“

                Ben cuts him off. “No, actually, I have mints. Are mints okay?”

                “You got something against hospitals?”

                “Well, they’re gonna ask how it happened, and they’re going to ask all these questions, and I don’t wanna get my Mom in trouble.” He shakes his head at the thought. “No, I’ve got mints. This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

                The demon watches him limp over to the door. He reaches out a hand. “No, stop. Sit down.” He flicks his wrist, and suddenly he’s holding a bowl of mints. “Is this what you’re talking about?”

                “Yes! Thank you! Sorry!”

                He takes a handful and sets the bowl down. “Alright,” He stretches out a hand, flickering with blue fire. “I’ll fix you up for these mints. Deal?”

                Ben frowns. “And by ‘fix me up’, you mean-“

                "All those cuts you have, I’ll heal them.”

                “Okay. Deal.”

                “Cool… Uh, you’ve gotta shake, kid.”

                He eyes the fire. “Is it safe?”

                “Yes. I promise it’s safe.”

                Ben tentatively reaches out a hand. They shake, and the fire races up his arm. He jerks back, but a second later it’s gone. With it goes the dull pain that had been a constant companion over the weekend; with wide eyes, he lifts up his pant leg. The pajamas have been cleaned of blood, the cuts in his skin faded to faint lines. It almost looks like it never happened at all.

                “Oh, wow. Thank you! Thank you, Mr…”

                “Alcor.” Alcor gives his hand another shake, and smiles. “No problem, kid.”

                Ben ducks his head and sits down in his chair. He opens the book again, and Alcor’s smile drops right off his face.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Oh, I was… I was gonna look you up.”

                He snaps his fingers and the book slams shut. “You don’t need to do that.”

                “Why not?” Ben yawns. “I want to, know the… the thing, the… why…”

                He trails off, and his head lists to the side like he’s going to faint again. Alcor takes note of the deep bags under his eyes.

                “Jeez,” He says. “How long have you been awake?”

                “Night… night one. I mean, um, one night.” Ben tries to sit up. “No, I can’t sleep, I gotta-“

                “You gotta sleep. Humans do not function well without it, I remember.”

                “But the shimmering guy-“

                “Is not going to get you with me here.” Alcor grasps his shoulder and leads him towards the bed. “Trust me. He wouldn’t dare.”

                Ben doesn’t respond; his eyes are closed before he even touches the mattress. He sinks into the bed with a deep sigh, his entire body relaxing for – Alcor assumes – the first time in a while. And there he sleeps, still in his turtleneck, with one foot hanging off the edge and an expression of complete serenity.

                Alcor’s lips twist in a wry smile. Strange boy. Still, much better than what he expected to find here… yes, much better. He can still fix this.

                He turns back to the tome on Ben’s desk. Picking it up with one hand, he takes off his hat with the other. Then, he slides it into his hat, the massive pages seeming to distort and shrink as they approach the opening. It disappears, and he puts the hat back on his head and dusts off his hands.

                That oughtta take care of it. Now, for the demon…

                Ben’s still sprawled across the bed, but as Alcor approaches him, it happens. Ben breathes in, and out, and as the air leaves him, something else does too. Alcor sees it as just a flicker of blue, there and gone, but his heart drops as he recognizes what it is.

                It’s a soul. It’s _his_ soul, departing Ben’s body like all of them do at the end of their lifespan.

                Holy shit. Did Ben just… die?

                No, no, the body’s still breathing. Alcor touches it, and shudders at the emptiness. There’s nothing wrong with it - nothing physically. So, why’d the soul leave?

                And, wait.

                Where is he going?

 

* * *

 

                It’s a bar, of sorts. Alcor recognizes it as soon as he sees a door cut into the fabric of the Mindcape.

                “The Midway Bar?” He watches with wide eyes as the soul disappears inside. “How is he doing this?”

                He pushes the door open. Inside, it’s dark. Dingy. Shadows sit on barstools and drink tarry substances; they sense him, and turn. A hundred eyes fix on him, wearing a hundred different expressions – fury, fear, contempt, desire, hunger. Their auras burn with hate, and the bar seems to darken still more.

                Funny. Alcor didn’t remember it being full of so many demons the last time he’d been here. Then again, he hadn’t been here in a while.

                They keep staring as he walks forwards. He stares back, meeting their gazes until most of them have the common sense to look away. For a particularly belligerent one that stands in his way, he growls. It scampers back to its table.

                The soul is sitting at a booth in the far corner. He’s a grayish, humanoid shape, slightly transparent giving off a ghostly blue glow. A dim yellow light hangs above its table; he outshines it. He’s got a bowl in front of him, filled with knives. As Alcor watches, he picks up two dry spaghetti strands and uses them like chopsticks to shovel the cutlery into his mouth.

                They make wet popping noises as he chews, and pulpy blood runs down his chin. Alcor takes a step back, his face contorted in disgust.

                “What are you doing?”

                The soul looks up, and it breaks into a wide smile. “Dadrone!”

                “T-Toby?” Alcor freezes in place as the soul runs over to hug him. “What is- how did you-?”

                “It’s so good to see you again…” His grip tightens, his voice silkens. “ _Pinetree_.”

                Alcor tears himself out of the soul’s grasp. He lifts his arm high, letting it crackle and burn with power- and now a pain stabs at the core of his form. Bluish energy shines bright around him, trying to push him away.

                No violence in the Midway bar. With difficulty, Alcor lowers his fist.

                “W͟h͟a̛t͝ ar͡e͘ you̶ ͜ḑoi͏ng h͢e͢re͡?” He hisses.

                The soul takes a look around, like it’s seeing this place for the first time. The walls are stone now, and lit with candlelight. Narrow, slitted windows look out onto darkness, and the ceiling has grown tall. He shrugs.

                “It’s familiar.” He says. “Where else would I go?”

                “What do you mean, where else would you go? How are you leaving your body like that? What are you plan͡n̕in̡g, Bill?”

                He just laughs. The noise sends shivers down Alcor’s spine.

                “Answer me!”

                “Alcor,” He says. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had all the answers. Why don’t you tell me? You’re the know-it-all.”

                “You don’t know?”

                “I wish I could help you, Dadrone.” The soul shrugs. “Hey, maybe I’m just feeling a bit free spirited this time round. Hah!”

                “You don’t…” Alcor hesitates, and then shakes his head. “No. No, there’s no way you’re not behind this weirdness. You’re gonna wake up right now, Bill, and I’m going to put a stop to this. I’m gonna-“

                “ **T̸̨R̸̷A̢̕͞I͏͏̡͢T͝O̶̸̢͘R̢̛**!͟͡”

                Alcor and the soul turn. At the far end of the bar, a shimmering figure stands, aura burning hot with rage. In one movement, it’s right in front of them, its eyes burning into the soul’s.

                “Th͢ơ̢u̕͢͞s͏͝a̕͘͠nds upon th͢o̴u̡͞sa̷̸n͘d̢͢s̴̢͡ of cycles, I waited for you! I was loyal! I was patient!” It stabs a claw at Alcor. “I hid your domain from the likes of him! I served you in every way I could, and how do you repay me? With nothing but weakness and c̶̷̷o̵͜͟w̧͟a̶͘rd͘͜i̸̢̨c͘͞ȩ!”

                “Tortugagger.” Alcor raises his eyebrows at the demon. “How did I know it was going to be you?”

                “THI̵S̶ ̷DO̵E̸S̨ N͞OT̕ ̧͞C̴͢O̵NC͞E̶̛R͢N͝ ͏̶Y͠OU̧,͘ ḐR͡͠E̶A̷M̷BE͝Ņ͝D̷ER͘!” It reaches for the soul, who backs up and clutches Alcor’s arm. He could feel a fear there, even as the soul keeps smiling; this only enrages Tortugagger more.

                “Shameful cowardice!” shrieks the Shimmering One. “Look at you, hiding behind that which you should be seeking to destroy! That which took everything from you, from me, from all your loyal followers! You promised me glory, and now you refuse me even the dregs of an award for my service. Į͜ W̸I͢͜L̵̷L H̸A͏͝V̢E YǪ͏̕U̴̸R ̛͜S̴̢OU͘L̷ FO̕R ͘͏͜T̴̸͟H̡I̴S̛͟,̴ Ç͡I̸̡P̴͞H̸̷E̡R̷̵!”

                Tortugagger surges forward, but Alcor pushes him away. Violence: the magic of Midway Bar sets upon him immediately, and he doubles up in pain.

                “Alcor?” asks the soul.

                “Wake up.” He sees Tortugagger advancing on them again, and he grabs the soul. “I said, wake up! G̵et ̶o͠ut of̕ h͢ere͢!͘”

                The soul steps back, and disappears. Good. Now, to deal with this little annoyance.

                Alcor straightens, forces blue fire from his fingertips, and lunges for Tortugagger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zalgo text:
> 
> “Don't play dumb with me! You were looking up Bill Cipher! What are you planning?”
> 
>  
> 
> "Not WHAT?"
> 
>  
> 
> "What are you doing here?" He hisses.
> 
>  
> 
> "TRAITOR!"
> 
>  
> 
> “Thousands upon thousands of cycles, I waited for you! I was loyal! I was patient!” It stabs a claw at Alcor. “I hid your domain from the likes of him! I served you in every way I could, and how do you repay me? With nothing but weakness and cowardice!”
> 
>  
> 
> "THIS DOES NOT CONCERN YOU, DREAMBENDER!"
> 
>  
> 
> "I WILL HAVE YOUR SOUL FOR THIS, CIPHER!"
> 
>  
> 
> "I said, wake up! Get out of here!"


	8. Chapter 8

                It’s dark outside when Ben starts awake. Heart hammering in his chest, fists clenched, wide eyes staring up at the ceiling where Alcor’s face had been.

 _Wake up_.

                He was up. Now what?

                …

                Now what? Is Alcor okay? Something was happening to him just before Ben left; what if Tortugagger beat him? What if he goes back to sleep again, and…

                Ben cuts himself off before he can finish the thought. No, Alcor has to come back. He just has to be patient. Stay up a little longer.

                What time is it?

                He looks at his phone – ugh, eight pm. Hopefully he comes back soon, because he’s not sure how much longer he can last on this bizarre sleep schedule. The bed is making his eyes droop, so he sits up. Rubs his eyes. Swings his legs over to the ground, and stands up.

                Stepping forwards, he reaches for the light switch and flicks it on. Now it’s bright, and he squints. He looks to the desk as his eyes adjust, and sees-

                Wait.

                Where’s Dan’s book?

                He hurries over and shuffles through his papers. Where’d it go? It’s a giant book, he couldn’t have just lost it… no, wait. It has to be Alcor. He didn’t want Ben to have it in the first place; he must have taken it while he was asleep.

                Ben frowns. He needs that book – he promised Dan he’d give it back. Sure, Dan technically broke the promise, but still. It doesn’t sit right with him. A deal’s a deal.

                At that moment, Ben catches sight of himself in the mirror. He turns. Stands up straight. Stares at himself.

 _A deal’s a deal_.

                Nothing’s changed. It’s still his face, his cheeks cratered with acne and a little peach fuzz on his chin. They’re still his eyes, dark and dull and a little turned down at the edges – always looking like his dog just died, Dan used to say.

                It’s him. It’s Ben. But he looks at his reflection, and suddenly, he feels like he’s looking at a stranger.

                “Pinetree,” He says. He pauses, and then he tries to stretch a smile across that face. He tries to say it like he did in the dream.

                “Piiinetree.” He says. The voice sounds too low. Too flat. The smile hurts his face, so he lets it drop.

                “Dadrone.” He hunches his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Wish I could help you, Dadrone. Wish I could…? Man, I wish I could help you, Dadrone. But maybe I’m just, um, maybe I’m just feeling a bit free spirited, this time around. Hah. Cause I’m Bill, right.”

                His reflection rubs the eyes.

                “Bill. Yep. I’m the, um, the demon guy. Manipulation and flattery, that’s my… that’s my thing.” He tries for a laugh. “Cause I’m a demon. Or, I’m sort of a demon?”

                His reflection ponders it, and then shrugs. Shakes the head.

                “I knew it. My whole life, I _knew_ something was wrong with me. I… I’m Bill. I’m Bill Cipher.”

                He breathes hard, and he stares at himself. Breathes. Breathes. The shine in the eyes, his eyes, slowly fades.

                Ben frowns. Ben steps back.

                No. No, he’s not. He’s not Bill – at least, not when he’s awake. Whatever happens in his dreams is one thing, but right here, right now? He’s not planning anything. He’s not trying to hurt anyone. He’s not a demon.

                He’s just making faces at himself in a mirror.

                Ben gives himself a thin smile. He might be a little tired.

 

* * *

 

                Ben finishes the last of the cereal. He tips it up and lets the crumbs tumble into his mouth. Then he sets it aside, and brushes the crumbs off his sketchbook.

                He’s kind of proud of this drawing; he doesn’t do action scenes very often, and this one came out decent. Alcor and Tortugagger are facing off against each other. The Dreambender is in the foreground, fire flickering around his fists, wings flared, eyes flashing with fury. Tortugagger is more… undefined, but he still captures the general shape of his form.

                He adds a little more shading, touches up some of the lines, and then sits back and looks out the window. The sun is rising outside; he’s going to have to get ready for school. He’s going to have to see Dan, and tell him about the book.

                Ugh. Ben rubs his burning eyes – maybe he could try calling out again?

                No, no. He isn’t doing that a second time. He’ll just go. It’ll be fine. Probably.

                With a sigh, Ben heaves himself out of the chair and goes to get dressed. He crumples up the empty cereal bag and tosses it in the trash. On the way to his room, he stops by his mother’s. Knocks.

                “Hey, Mom.” He says. “We, uh, we probably need to go shopping soon. Not much food left.”

                He hesitates.

                “Just letting you know. Love you.”

                Ben walks away, his stomach growling as he thinks of all the knives he ate last night.

 

* * *

 

                Dan isn’t at his desk when Ben walks in. It sounds awful, but thank god. Days always went a lot smoother when Dan wasn’t there.

                …That came out wrong. Obviously, Dan is his friend, but he’s a bit… much, you know?  Especially recently, after he started hanging around that group on the stairs… he’s nice. He is. Ben’s known him since kindergarten; he's a good friend.

                Ben frowns, and pulls out his phone. He should make sure Dan’s okay. He opens his messages, and glances up at the last one he sent.

                _Need ur help_. _Call me when u get this plz_

                That went unanswered for hours, and then Dan tried to trick him into the Midas prank. Yeah, that kind of wasn’t great. He still shouldn’t have punched him, though.

 _Hey_ , Ben texts. _r u ok?_

                He pauses. Then: _I might have lost the book. Sorry. Ill see if I can get it back but I might not. Its hard to explane._

_Sorry I punched you to._

_Are we still frends?_

                The bell rang at that moment, and Ben jumped. He stashed his phone away and turned to the front, where he could see Mr Bonder walk up to the podium.

                “Good morning, class. We’re going to start by going over the homework – everyone find a partner, switch your worksheets, and sign your name at the top.”

                Ben sits there alone. Well, this is great. It’s going to send him to sleep and make him look pathetic at the same time.

                He struggles through to lunch. Classes are dull, and there are several times where he nearly faceplants into his desk; only doodling and the thought of Tortugagger keeps him conscious. He checks his phone several times, but there’s no reply from Dan.

                His stomach rumbles, and he heads to the cafeteria. He brought money today, and he stands at the end of a long line, trying to ignore the smell of food wafting around the hall.

                It’s then that Ben’s phone buzzes. He jerks it out of his pocket; yes, there’s a text message!

                From Mom.

 _Hey there sweetie,_ it starts. _I noticed that we’re due for a shopping trip. Wait in the office today; I’ll pick you up there. Love you, see you soon!_

                Ben blinks. And then, he smiles.

_Ok. Love you to, mom._

                He puts his phone away, and waits patiently in line.

 

* * *

 

                Usually, when Ben gets picked up by his Mom, he waits in the office. Today he waited just outside the office. Miss Jan was manning the desk; he was not awake enough to handle that level of awkwardness.

                 So he sat there, in the shadows but somehow still sweating. Time passed. Quite a lot of time, actually. He could’ve been home by now.

                Ben texts her.

_R u on ur way?_

                He waits. Just before he works up the courage to call her, he sees a familiar black car pull into the school. He lets out a breath he doesn’t even know he was holding, and hurries over to her.

                Ben opens the car, and she’s sitting there. Her hair’s brushed, and her smile’s bright.

                “Hi, sweetie!” She beckons him in. “Come on, don’t let the AC out!”

                “Hi, Mom.”

                “Seatbelts,” She says, and watches him buckle himself up. “How was your day at school?”

                “Good, yeah.” Ben stares at her. “Good.”

                “Anything exciting happening?”

                “Um… not at school, no.”

                She snorts. “Not at school? So something's happening at home, then?”

                “Oh, um-“

                “What was that drawing you left on the counter this morning? It’s different from all your other ones. It’s good, it’s really good. Looks like it’s from a comic book.”

                Ben smiles. “It’s, um, just from a dream I had. Thanks.”

                “Hah. My little artist.” She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get some food in you. I was thinking we could go to a restaurant first, and then we could pop by the grocery store…”

                Ben’s mom kept talking. Ben sits back in his seat, and feels himself really, truly relax. It’s like he’s been wound up so tight, for so long, he doesn’t even notice the tension until it’s gone.

                Mom’s back. _She’s back_.

                Maybe everything’s going to be okay after all.


	9. Chapter 9

                Black and white tile. Stiff red booths. Stale, greasy smell. Pitt Cola themed coasters, and a novelty jukebox nestled in the corner. Not many people – that makes sense. It’s a little late to go to a breakfast diner.

                “Do you dare me?”

                “Mom, nobody’s here. It’s just gonna annoy the waitress.”

                “You’re right, it’s a dumb idea. It’s dumb.” She shoots out of her seat. “I’m gonna do it.”

                Ben watches his mother skip over to the jukebox, swipe her credit card across the top, and type away on the screen. ‘Same Old Platitudes’ by Marcia Sinderson starts to play – huh, he hasn’t heard this once since they flogged it to death on the radio last summer.

                He smiles as she walks back over. “Good song.”

                “I know!” She leans forward. “I put it in thirty-three times.”

                “…Oh. That’s a lot.”

                “Yeah, maybe. Maybe. Oh well. I love this song.” She picks up the menu. “Whatcha hungry for, sweetie? Got something in mind?”

                Just looking down at the menu makes his stomach growl. He tries for a shrug. “I’m good with anything… what about the pancakes?”

                “Oooh, good choice.” Her hand taps on the laminated paper. Tap, tap, tap. “Good choice… good choice. What am I having?”

                Ben sits back and rubs his eyes as she thinks. Ugh, these chairs are doing him in. Behind them, the song faded out… and started to play again.

                “Ben. Ben?”

                “Huh? Yes?”

                “Ben. I wonder how much bacon they’d give me. Like if I just said, ‘give me all the bacon,’ would they do that? And an egg. I’m starving.”

                Ben shrugs.

                “I’ll ask them. I’ll ask them.” She puts down the menu. Straightens it. Straightens it again. “So, how’s school going?” A smile. “Nearly summer! That’s exciting!”

                “Yeah, yeah, it’s going…” He flails for the word, and then just gives a thumbs up. “Um, yeah. Sorry. I’m tired.”

                She tilts her head to the side. “You do look very tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

                “…No. Not really.”

                “Why? Is everything okay?”

                “No, no, everything’s okay, um… I got in a fight. With Dan.”

                Amongst other things. He looks away when his mother reaches over and grasps his arm.

                “I’m sorry, sweetie. Do you want to talk about it?”

                “It was nothing. It was mostly my fault. I was being stupid.”

                “What happened?”

                Ben shrugs. Behind them, the song fades out… and then with a clash of drums it starts again. His mother squeezes his arm.

                “You know,” She starts, with a little laugh. “I used to do stupid stuff all the time with my friends when I was young like you. One time, one time I – oh, god, it’s funny now but I felt awful back then – I was helping somebody with a demonology assignment, and they needed a circle, right? I, uh, I gave them one for a succubus.”

                Ben looks up. “What? Really?”

                “It gets worse. It was a practical assignment, and she summoned it in front of her whole class.” Ben’s mother cackles to herself. “I didn’t realise! And I thought she’d catch it – it looked way different than all the other ones I sent her. But she didn’t, and she was fu-ri-ous.”

                Ben snorts. “What happened after that?”

                “Well, uh, lots and lots and lots of apologising later, she agreed not to murder me in my sleep. By the end of college she thought it was the funniest thing ever, so it worked out alright.” She smiles at Ben. “And you know who that friend is? She’s Dan’s mother.”

                “Really?”

                “Really. I wonder if she still remembers that story.” Ben’s mother looks down. “I haven’t talked to her in ages.”

                She squeezes Ben’s arm. The song starts again, and she takes a deep breath.

                “Anyway, the point is, if he’s upset, just give it time. Be sincere. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll come round sooner or later.”

                “I punched him in the face.”

                Ben’s mother looks at him, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You- what?”

                “I punched him in the face.”

                “Why did you do that? That doesn’t sound like you.”

                “I just… it’s kind of complicated. I was really tired.”

                She frowns. “You punched him because you were tired?”

                “No. I mean, sort of?” He pulls back. “It’s complicated. He wanted me to do something and I lost my temper, and now he isn’t talking to me.”

                Ben’s head hurts. He kneads his forehead for a long moment.

                “Well, uh, that isn’t great, Ben. You really shouldn’t punch people. Is he-“

                “Hello!” A new voice. The waitress walks over, pen and notebook in hand. “I’m so sorry about the wait! Is everyone ready to order?” A pause. She takes in the scene. “Should I come back?”

                “If you could, that’d be great. Thank you.”

                Ben could hear her sigh. Tap her fingers on the table – tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. The song started again.

                “I know…” Ben’s mom started, in a small voice. “I know you probably haven’t been having… the best few weeks. And that’s my fault. I know it is. I’m sorry.”

                She puts her head in her hands. Ben cringes. “No, no, it’s okay.” She’s crying now. He reaches for her. “No, look, I punched him, this is my fault. Mom. Mom, please. It’s fine. Everything’s fine, I can sort it out.”

                “I should have been around.” She shudders and shakes her head. “I know I should have.”

                “No, no, it’s okay. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t cry.”

                “I-I have to do better. And I will.” Ben’s mom looks up. With a shine in her eye, she links hands with him. “From now on, I won’t be doing any more moping in the bedroom. I’m going to be there for you, okay? I promise.”

                Ben tries for a smile. “Okay, Mom.”

                She squeezes his hand. Then she reaches over, and touches his cheek. “You really do look tired, sweetie. After lunch, why don’t I drop you off at home?”

                “Aren’t we going to the store?”

                “I can do that on my own. You should get some sleep, and maybe after that we can talk a little more about the Dan thing, okay?”

                “Okay. I’m sorry.”

                Behind them, the song fades out, and then it starts again. It’s predictable. Unbearable.

                Ben sits there and orders pancakes.

 

* * *

 

                “Alright, here we are.”

                He steps out of the car, waving to her. “Thanks, Mom!”

                “Straight to sleep, okay?”

                “I will. Thank you!”

                His mother drives away, and Ben walks up to his house. The front door is unlocked, and he goes right in; he’s immediately greeted by the sharp smell of detergent. The sink, he notices, is no longer piled high with dishes. There’s a huge mass of papers on the table that wasn’t there before.

                He picks one up. They’re photocopies of a textbook on runic healing. They’re not in order, and a few of his drawings are mixed in amongst the pages. A face with nothing but one huge mouth smiles up at him, its lips stretched so wide they’ve ripped down the centre. Teeth shine through the tear like bone.

                Placing the papers back on the table, Ben walks over to his room. He passes his mother’s on the way; the door is ajar, and light streams out from the opening. The hallway doesn’t look so dark anymore.

                He reaches his door, and pushes it open. The bed is… empty. There’s no one there – Ben was half expecting this, but he still felt the disappointment in his stomach.  Alcor wasn’t back yet. Should he keep waiting? How long was he supposed to stay-

                “You’re here.” Ben just about jumps out of his skin as Alcor steps out from behind the wall. The demon crosses his arms. “I was wondering when you were going to get back.”

                “Wha… Hi, Mr Alcor.” He takes a step back. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

                “Long enough. I have something for you.”

                Alcor takes off his hat and begins to rummage through it. Ben frowns.

                “How do you fit a textbook in there?”

                “Textbook?” He looks up sharply. “What are you talking about? Why do you want that?”

                The look Alcor’s fixing him with… it makes Ben take another step back. “Well, it’s, uh, it belongs to my friend-“

                “Then I’ll get it back to him. You don’t need to have it.”

                “Oh. Thank you.”

                Alcor just grunts and keeps rummaging. Ben stands there, shuffling his feet. He clears his throat.

                “Uh, about the Tortugagger guy-“

                “Took care of him.”

                “Oh. Are you okay? You looked pretty…” That look again. Ben hesitates. “hurt. There was the blue light and-“

                Alcor narrows his eyes. “How much do you remember?”

                “About the dream?”

                “Yes, about the dream. How much do you remember?”

                “Well, all of it, really.” He scratches his head. “It was kind of confusing. I mean, sometimes in the dreams I say things that are weird, but it was like I recognized you? I kept calling you all those names like ‘Dadrone’ and ‘Pine-“

                “Okay, okay. Enough.”

                “And you sort of recognized me too? You called me Bill… and Toby.” Ben frowns. “I know who Bill is, but who’s Toby? Is he the guy from the textbook-“

                “T̗͎͎̫͇̺h̼̟͟a͍̲͚̺t̤̯̠̪̰̳ ͖̦͔d̝̦̯͢o̵͓̥̘̹͍e̲̪͉̼s͎n̻'̳̱̠̠͖ṱ̣̱͕̝̪̩͘ ̢̗̪̥͍c̭͙͔͉̘͉͘o̜̹̫̝͡n̢c̤̥̭̯͔̻̕e͖̕rn̼͉̼̘ ̰̭̯͙̝̜̮y̵̱̙o̦̤͔͖͠ṷ̟̰̯̗.̦”

                His voice echoes along the hallway, and Ben cringes. “Oh. Okay. Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Alcor says, and draws something out of his hat. A necklace? “I want you to wear this.”

                He gives it to Ben. It is a necklace – a small charm shaped like an anchor attached to a strange, bluish metal chain. It’s heavier than it looks, and colder than it should be.

                “What is it?”

                “It’s to help with your dreams.”

                Ben frowns. “Help? Like, to stop them?”

                “Yes. It’ll keep you anchored here.” Alcor watches him turn it over in his hand. “Well? Are you going to put it on?”

                “Uh… but you said you took care of Tortugagger, right?”

                He watches Alcor tense. “What are you saying, Ben?”

                There’s a tension beneath the demon’s tone that sets Ben’s teeth on edge. He shrugs helplessly. “I-I mean-“

                “I want you to wear that necklace.” He puts his hat back on his head. “I’ll be watching if you don’t.”

                “But-“

                Alcor takes a step back; the air seems to _twist_ , and then he’s gone. Ben blinks several times.

                “Uh… Mr Alcor? Where’d you go? Hello?”

                No answer. Ben hesitates, and then looks down at the necklace. The charm dangles between his fingers, glinting at him.

                He shivers, and rubs his eyes.

                “Uh, alright,” He says to the air, and undoes the latch at the end of the chain. He fastens it around his neck, and shivers again at the cold. “I’ll, um, I’ll see how this goes.”

                Ben feels a yawn coming on. Maybe this won’t be so bad. He could use a break from all the excitement, after all. He gets into his bed, sinking into the soft covers, and closing his eyes.

                The cold weight on his neck is the last thing he remembers, before-

 

* * *

 

…

* * *

 

               

                BEEP BEEP BEEP

                Ben lifts his head, his eyes still heavy from sleep. “Wha…?”

                His alarm? What time is it? He paws for his phone, bringing it close and turning it on. The light is sudden and harsh, and he squints.

                It’s… five o’clock. Five o’clock in the morning. Wait… how did he sleep so long? It was just after lunch when he went to sleep; he just closed his eyes, and then… where did all the time go?

                He lifts himself up, and a cold weight on his neck makes his heart sink. The anchor charm glints at him.

                Oh, yeah.

                That.

                Ben touches it, and frowns.


	10. Chapter 10

                “I called Alisha today.” Ben’s mother rolls the steering wheel around a turn, and then straightens it. “Your friend Dan’s mom.”

                Ben looks over. “What did she say?”

                “Dan was in the hospital most of the day yesterday. You fractured his jaw.”

                A deep pit formed at the bottom of his stomach? _Fractured his jaw_? He didn’t mean to do that! Oh, no…

                “Yeah.” She chuckles, pulling Ben right out of his spiraling thoughts. “Lisha was _not_ aware that you punched him – apparently your friend fibbed and said he tripped down the stairs. Covered for you like a champ, Ben.”

                His mother laughs again. Ben frowns.

                “You… don’t sound mad.”

                “No, no. They talked to your friend, and got the full story out of him. Why didn’t you tell me you guys were just playing a game?”

                “A game?”

                “A stupid game – why are you kids always obsessed with seeing who can punch the hardest? I don’t understand it – but I thought it was something else. You were being all secretive about it, and it made it sound waaaay worse.” She reached over, and ruffles his hair. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me these things, you know? I won’t get mad, I’ll help. I promise.”

                Ben looks down at his hands. Clenches them.

                “Just a game.”

                “Ben?”

                Stopped at a red light, his mother cups his cheek and turns him to face her. She’s smiling, but there’s a worry in her eyes. She hesitates, then:

“You know that, right?”

                Ben nods.

                “Good.” The lights change, and she looks away. “She asked me to pay for the medical expenses. We’ll sort that out, but I wanted to talk to you about that a little more – I think over the summer, you should start looking into some jobs you could do. Obviously, I’m not going to ask you to pay me everything back, but this kind of thing is a learning opportunity, you know? You’re getting to the age where you gotta learn stuff like this has consequences.”

                “I’ll do that. I’m sorry, Mom.”

                “Don’t worry about it too much; I’ll help you. Hey, we can both look for jobs at the same time, right?” She laughs once more, but this one gets drawn out into a groan. “Ohhhh, god, gotta get my life back together. Hah! I’m, I’m such a…”

                Ben watches her put her head on the steering wheel for a moment. Just a moment, though, and she pops back up, shooting him a look that’s almost sheepish.

                “It’s okay. We’re fine, Ben, don’t- don’t stress or anything. Don’t stress.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, Dan didn’t want to get you in trouble, and Alisha doesn’t either; she knows you’re a good kid. They won’t be mentioning the punch to the school.”

                Ben’s school is coming up on the right. His mother slows at a stop sign, a grin playing on her face.

                “Yeah, Lishi says, uh, ‘if the art doesn’t pan out, he can always go into boxing with an arm like that!”

                She laughs, and Ben tries to join in. They pull up by the curb; he grabs his bag.

                “Okay, Mom. See you after school.”

                “Have a good day, sweetie. Say hi to your friend from me.” She smiles, but her eyes are distant, now. “Hey, um, the job thing… I just thought- that’s not because- it’s fine. We’re fine, you don’t have to worry about any of that.”

                Ben opens his mouth-

                “You know what?” She’s talking quickly, mostly to herself. Her hands are tapping away on the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about the job thing, Ben. Forget about it. I shouldn’t have mentioned- don’t worry about it. Don’t worry. Don’t worry.”

                “Mom.”

                She blinks. Comes back into focus. She looks at him, and he leans over; his arm comes around and wraps her into a big hug. His head is right on her shoulder, and he can feel her take a sharp breath.

                He can feel her hesitate, and then her hands come up and wrap around him.

                “I love you, Mom.” Ben says. She lets out that breath, and he can smell a bit of mint on it.

                “I love you too.” She squeezes tighter, then, quietly: “I’m sorry.”

                Ben freezes for a moment. Just for a moment, and then he pulls back. Hefts his bag. Opens the door.

                A cold wind brushes by him. It’s surprisingly chilly today; he can feel it through his shirt.

                “Alright,” His mother’s voice. “I’ll let you go now. Have a nice day at school, and I’ll see you back here!”

                “See you,” he says, and shuts the door. He starts forward, shivering and listening to the car pull away behind him.

                Hugging his arms to his chest, Ben hurries inside. The first few students are filtering in, twos and threes hanging out by their lockers or meandering down the hall. A group ahead of him suddenly bursts out into laughter; one guy shoves his friend back and they stumble into Ben.

                “Oh, sorry man,” The guy brushes him off and stabs a finger at his friend. “Dude, you shoved me into some guy! I’m gonna kill you, Daryl!”

                They tear off down the corridor, and Ben takes a moment to straighten his shirt. Bonder’s class is just a few doors down; he makes his way over there and pushes the door open.

                Then he stops.

                Frowns.

                There’s a crowd around his desk. That’s… new.

                Ben walks up slowly, trying to peer in between the people. They’re not gathered around his desk, it seems, but someone’s sitting on his chair and someone else has got their butt on his desk; he drops his stuff on the ground and leans over.

                Lots of voices. Lots of questions?

                “Does it hurt?”

                “Dude, it looks freaky. What happened?”

                “So you can still talk?”

                “How long have you gotta keep it on for?”

                Ben almost taps one of them on the shoulder, but he shies away and waits for the bell to ring instead. It does in short order, and as Mr Bonder strolls through the door, files in hand, the crowd begins to disperse.

                They get off his desk, and Ben finally sits down. He grimaces; warm seat. That’s always weird.

                A sharp intake of breath makes him look over. Ben blinks.

                “Oh.” He says. “Hi, Dan.”

                Dan is sitting next to him. He’s resting his head on his palm, pretending to stare straight ahead, but he’s shooting Ben quick glances out of the corner of his eye.

                “Alright, everybody!” Bonder speaks up in front of the class. “Today we’ll be going over the unit in this worksheet. This is not a talking exercise…”

                Ben leans over. “Dan?”

                He can hear Dan mumble something. Dan shifts back in his seat, his hand still clasped firmly over his jaw.

                “Are you okay?” Ben grimaces. “Oh, yeah, my mom said: the jaw thing. Um. Sorry.”

                Dan waves his other hand; it’s hard to tell what that gesture’s saying. Ben brings out his notepad and offers it to him, but he just frowns.

                “No, dude,” Dan says in an undertone. There’s a sort of thickness to his voice now, like he’s talking through a mouthful of food. “I can talk fine.”

                “Oh. Are you okay?”

                “Yeah. Doing greaaat.”

He bares his teeth at that; Ben can see metal glinting in his mouth.

                “Are those braces?”

                Ben blurts that out without really thinking. He can see Dan tense, and then shoot him a glare that made him quail in his seat. Dan takes his hand off his jaw, revealing the mottled, swollen bruise underneath it.

                His teeth don’t move as he hisses a reply. “No, dipshit, they’re not braces. I had to get my jaw wired shut after-”

                He cuts himself off there. Sticks his hand back over the bruise, and stares straight forwards. Ben frowns.

                “I’m really sorry, Dan.” He pauses. No reply. “I didn’t mean to. I’m really sorry.”

                Dan narrows his eyes.

                “Dan, please. I am. And the book- I didn’t lose that! I can’t tell you how, but I got it back to you. If you check your library it should-“

                “Mr Garcia?”

                His teacher’s voice cuts across the room. Ben looks up to see Bonder – as well as half the class – staring him down.

                “Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

                Ben shakes his head. “No, sir.”

                “Then why are you talking while I am speaking?”

                “Sorry.”

                He shrinks back, and sets his hands on the table. They’re cool against the wood, and he stares down at them as Bonder starts talking again, clenching them and then spreading them flat again. The little callus on the side of his finger from where he holds his pencil; he stares at that, letting his teacher’s words wash over him without really hearing any of it.

                “Hey.”

                Ben looks up at Dan’s voice. He’s still staring ahead, but his face is tilted to the side. He pauses for a moment, grimaces, and continues.

                “You said… you got the book back?”

                He nods, and Dan seems to unwind a tiny bit. He sits back in his seat.

                “That’s good. I was going to ask you.”

                “You’ve got my twenty dollars too. Um, you can keep that.”

                “Oh, aren’t you _generous_.”

                His words are dripping with sarcasm, and Ben doesn’t know what to say to that. After a moment Dan sighs.

                “Look, dude, just… leave me alone from now on, okay?”

                “What?”

                He rubs his jaw, and grimaces some more. “You heard me. Look, man, I didn’t want to get you in trouble, but I also don’t really – how do I put this? – I don’t really want to hang out with you anymore.”

                That hit Ben hard. He felt his blood run cold; all he could muster up was a faint, “What?”

                “Thanks for giving back the book. My folks hadn’t noticed it went missing, so we can probably get away with it.”

                “But- you don’t want to hang out with me anymore?” Dan didn’t look at him. Ben leaned forwards. “What do you mean by that?”

                “What do I mean? What do you think I mean?”

                “You don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

                “I mean… not exactly. You’ll always be my friend, but…” He shifted back. “Look, why’ve I got to spell it out for you? I said I didn’t want to hang out with you anymore. Don’t make some huge deal over it.”

                “Dan, I’m really sorry about hitting you.”

                “Okay.”

                “Dan, I am really sorry. I mean it. Look, it won’t happen again, I promise. Dan.” Ben grits his teeth. “Dan. Come on, Dan. Dan-“

                “ _Mr Garcia_!”

                His teacher’s voice makes Ben jump.

                “Yelling people’s names across the classroom _LIIIIKE THIIIIIS_ is not acceptable! I am not warning you again!”

                “Yes, sir. Sorry, sorry.”

                He glances back at Dan, wanting to say something, anything, but his throat tightens a bit at the sight of him pointedly looking away.

                “Sorry,” he mumbles, and puts his head in his hands. There’s a cold weight around his neck.

                For the rest of the class, Ben fiddles with the anchor charm.

 

* * *

 

                ‘how to get job’

                ‘jobs in south arizona’

                ‘what is a BS’

                Ben makes a face and sits back against the wall. Damn, he didn’t have a bachelor’s degree. Who knew so many jobs were gonna ask for something like that?

Tapping through a few more openings – compliance consultant, technology analyst, audiovisual design engineer – he finally gives up and turns off his phone with a sigh. It felt like he was doing this wrong, somehow.

                His bag is next to him. He pulls that over and rummages through it, bringing out his sketchbook and a pencil – the tip’s broken off. He groans, digs around again for his pencilcase and sharpens it up. Then he opens his sketchbook and turns to an empty page.

                Ben puts pencil to paper.

                …

                He frowns. Looks up, his eyes staring off into space as he tries to think. Looks down again, at the blank page, and turns it over.

                Old illustrations jump out at him as he flips through the sketchbook: a bowl of eyes sitting next to a cheesegrater, staring up at a shadow; a figure in a apron laying its arm on a cutting board, dicing up its clawed fingers as it whistles a tune; two monsters sitting around a chess board, one moving a knight forwards while the other bites the cross off its king. So many more… and then this page.

                This blank page. Ben closes his eyes, but all he can see is the blankness of his mind. He can’t even imagine the bar; it’s all white.

                A coldness. Reaching up, Ben grasps the anchor charm, and draws it out of his shirt. He holds the chain between his fingers, and it dangles off them like a dead weight.

                Ben hesitates, and then makes a decision.  He pulls the charm forward and feels along the chain for the latch.

                It’s not there.

                He looks down, and goes over it again. There’s no latch – it’s gone. He tries pulling it over his head, but it barely goes over his chin. After one more tug, he lets it go.

                The anchor plunges down and lands on his shirt. He sits back, glaring down at it.

                A laugh echoes from down the hall. Ben’s head shoots up, and he can pick out Dan’s voice, saying words, having fun, his stupid friends giggling along with him…

                Ben forces himself to look away. Why is he doing this to himself? He should just move; there’s tons of other places he could be sitting right now.

                He unwraps a mint and sticks it in his mouth. He can still hear them laughing, still see the empty page of the sketchbook, still feel the cold weight pressing on his chest.

                Ben sits there and thinks of those other places.

 

* * *

 

                A knock on Ben’s door makes him jump. He drops a pair of scissors and almost falls off his bed trying to get up.

                “Y-yes?”

                “Hi! Hello!” Ben’s mother pushes open the door, a smile playing on her face. “How is homework going?”

                “Good. Good.”

                She raises an eyebrow.

                “Um…”

                “Just hanging out? It’s okay, Ben. As long as you’re getting it done on time.” She leans forward. “Anyway, I need to head off for a little. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

                “Where are you going?”

                Her eyes begin  to twinkle. “I got a call from a clinic. They wanted me to do an interview as soon as possible, so here I go!”

                “Oh.” Her grin is infectious; Ben finds himself smiling too. “That’s great, Mom!”

                “It is! It is!” She steps back. “It is. Anyway, I’ll probably bring dinner back. You have any preferences?”

                “Not really.”

                “Okay. Text me if you change your mind. Love you!”

                “Love you too!”

                She blows him a kiss as she walks away. Ben listens in to her footsteps, to the sound of the door swinging open and then slamming closed. Now, it’s quiet. He’s alone.

                He hesitates, and then leans down and picks the scissors off the floor. One more time, he puts the chain between the blades and squeezes as hard as he could – they still won’t cut.

                Ben grimaces. Alright, plan B, then.

                He picks up his sketchbook. On the blank page, he’s drawn a summoning circle he found on the internet. It has Alcor’s symbol on it – it looks right, but he can’t help but remember this is exactly what Dan warned him about last week.

                Well, forget about Dan. Ben frowns and places the blade of his scissors against his palm. This was the bit he is not going to like; he breaths a few times to psych himself up, grips the handle, screws his eyes shut… and gently caresses the skin of his palm with the blade’s edge.

                There’s no blood, of course. Ben makes another pass, but he can’t bring himself to press too hard. Finally he gives up, and picks out a mint he was supposed to give to Alcor in person.

                “Splendidum stella,” He says, and gingerly places the mint in the centre of the summoning circle. “te invoco. Te invoco ut facere volunatem meam. Dico nomen tuum: Alcor.”

                A swirl of black smoke envelops his bed, and Ben takes a step back. Taking shape in the darkness is a familiar figure with huge wings, yellow eyes, and arms crossed in the very essence of a ‘disapproving dad’ stance.

                Alcor stares him down. “What do you wąn͡t?”

                “Hi, Al! I mean, Alcor. Alcor. Sorry.”

                No reply. Ben gulps and picks a piece of paper up from his desk.

                “Uh… I wanted to ask you- oh, wait. I got the wrong thing.” He blinks. “Actually, could you look this over for me? Just quickly, I’d really appreciate it.”

                He offers the paper to Alcor, who snatches it out of his hand. “What’s this?”

                “It’s my re-suum.”

                “Your re-suum? What?” He glares down at the page. “Dear future boss, I am Benjamín Rodríguez-García, I am interested in this position because I punched my friend and need to pay for his… What is this, a joke? Is it supposed to be a résumé or something?”

                “Ohhh, that’s how you say it.”

                Alcor’s eyebrows droop. “Why did you give me this.”

                “Well, is it any good?”

                “Is it- how would I know if it’s any good? If you haven’t noticed, kid, I’m a demon, How many résumés do you think I’m looking at every day?”

                Ben frowns, trying to come up with a number. Before he gets far, Alcor cuts him off.

                “Answer is none.” He snaps his finger and the paper blinks back to the desk. “Ask your parents, Ben.”

                “Uh…”

                Alcor crosses his arms again, his eyes narrowing “So, why did you r͡eal̸l̵͘͝y̵̛ summon me?”

                “Well…”

                “If it was just for the career advice, I’m going to be displeased.”

                “No, it was-“ He stops, and takes another piece of paper off the desk. Ben reads over his notes, and takes a deep breath. “The necklace you’ve given to me, it isn’t letting me dream or imagine or picture anything.”

                “Yes. It’s keeping you safe.”

                “I know, but you said you destroyed Tortugagger. If-“

                “I destroyed him, but there’s thousands out there who are much, much worse than him.” Alcor bares a toothy grin at that. “And during my fight with Tortugagger? They were watching. They know who you are now, Ben. They know you’re not one of them.”

                Ben takes a step back. “What does that mean?”

                “It means you don’t want to go back. You don't want them to find you out there.”

                “But-“

                “You don’t want to go back.” Alcor looks at him, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eye. “Unless… there’s something you were planning to do?”

                “Planning? I’m not planning anything.”

                “Good. Then I don’t see any reason you’d want to visit the Mindscape.”

                Alcor was giving Ben a wide grin, like he’d caught him in a lie or something. Ben just frowned.

                “But I liked going there.”

                “You liked it?” Alcor picks up one of Ben’s sketchbooks and flips through it. “Let’s see here… oh, look. A glass of blood with a beating heart in it. You liked that?”

                Ben just shrugs.

                “Kinda gross, isn’t it. And hey, lookie here! Nice, normal, innocent Ben enjoying some entrails for dinner. Yum.”

                “It’s just in the dream. I don’t do it in real-“

                “Then why do you want to go back?” Alcor’s smile is getting more unpleasant by the second. “If I were human, I’d feel pretty relieved not to be going through that every night.”

                “Well…”

                “I’ll be honest, Ben. I don’t want you coming back to the Mindscape. The necklace stays on.” His smile loses its last grain of warmth, and he takes a step forward. “I’d better not catch you trying to cut it off again.”

                Ben grits his teeth. He looks down at his hands, and he clenches them. “Alcor.”

                “What?”

                “I’m not Bill.”

                Alcor freezes. What’s left of his smile falls right off his face. In a low, dangerous voice, he hisses, “What?”

                “I said, I’m not Bill. I know that’s what you’re worried about – I’m not stupid. But I’m not, and I swear I’m not planning anything.” He sighs. “I know the stuff I do in my dreams is… weird, but… I like doing it. It’s not hurting anyone, and… you know, after a long day, it’s just really nice to have something like that.”

                Alcor hasn’t said a word. Ben musters the courage to look up at him.

                “I… I’d just really like it back.” He tries for a smile. “Please.”

                For a long time, Alcor doesn’t say anything. His wings twitch, and his eyes dart this way and that, and finally he turns away. He takes a breath, and Ben has a bad feeling about what he’ll say next.

                “No.” Alcor says, quietly. “I can’t risk it.”

                “But wait, Alcor, I promise I’m not Bill! I just want my dreams back! Is there some way I can prove it or-“

                “ **I̧̤͕̜ ̝̳͞s̙̲̖͉̟a̺͔i͓̭͔̝̜ͅd̺̥̤̭͔̦ Ņ̡̠̺͍͖O̢͈̝͖̲̥͔̹̠̙̻̤̠͈͟!** ”

 

                Alcor’s voice seems to shake the very house; Ben shrinks back and covers his ears. After a moment, he looks back at Ben.

                “That’s final.” He says, and his eyes narrow. “Got it?”

                “But-“

                “Good. Now stop asking me about it.” He flares his wings. “Goodbye.”

                “Alcor, wait!”

                He takes a step forward, but Alcor dissolves into shadow before his very eyes. He’s gone, and Ben is alone.

                Ben clenches his fists. He kicks the post of his bed, and then stomps over to sit on it, leaning forwards and gripping his forehead with his hands.

                He can feel a weight on his neck. The anchor charm dangles there, glinting at him. Ben stuffs it in his shirt, but now he can feel it like ice against his skin.

                He can always, always feel it.


	11. Chapter 11

…

 

* * *

 

                BEEP BEEP BEEP-

                Ben turns off his alarm. He lies there for a moment, his eyes closed, breathing. There’s a weight on his chest, and he can feel it pressing down every time he takes a breath.

                 He gets up. Gets dressed. Picks up his bag, and shuffles out the door.

                “Good morning, Ben!”

                His mother’s in the kitchen; she waves at him with a big wooden spoon, then puts it back in a bowl she’s holding and keeps stirring. She’s standing by the stove, and there’s a packet of tortillas sticking out of a shopping bag on the counter next to her.

                “Morning, Mom.” Ben wanders closer. The table, he notices, is cleared, and there’s a rumble as the washing machine works. “How long have you been up?”

                “Hmm? Oh, just for a little bit.” She laughs. “It looks good, doesn’t it? I’ve got everything in order, and you know what, I thought I’d go full adult and try some cooking. We’ll see how this goes.”

                “Do you need some help?”

                “No, no, I’ve got it. I’m joking, sweetie, I can cook, I just don’t like it. Hah! Takes too long, and I’m busy.” She slows her stirring. “Or I was busy, at least. On call all the time at the hospital, and… now I’ve got all the time in the world, right? No excuse, heh. No excuse.”

                Ben leans on the counter as she sets the bowl down. She turns on the stovetop, and the gas goes _click, click, click, fwoosh_.

                The ‘#1 Dad’ mug is sitting by the kettle. It’s full of cold water, and the teabag sits to the side, bone dry.

                “Did you want some tea?” Ben asks. She looks up at him, and then over at the kettle.

                “I did. Whoops.”

                “Do you want me to-“

                “No, no, no. Don’t worry about it – sit down!” She lays a tortilla right on the burner plate. “Breakfast’ll be one second.”

                Ben hesitates. “Are you sure?”

                “I’ve got it, sweetie. Just sit down, okay?” She flips the tortilla. Shoots him a quick smile. “Why don’t you work on one of your little drawings? I love those.”

                Ben doesn’t know what to say to that, so he steps back and heads over to the table. Sits himself down, and rummages absently in his bag as he waits for breakfast. His hand passes over his sketchbook, passes over it again, flips through all his folders, closes on a piece of paper…

                “Here you go!” A plate’s set in front of him. “Nothing flashy, but that should keep you going till lunch.”

                “Thank you, Mom.”

                “You’re welcome.” She touches his shoulder, and then turns around. “Right, now to make mine-”

                “Mom?”

                Ben’s words come abruptly. She turns.

                “Yes?”

                He pulls the piece of paper out of his backpack. “Um…” He offers it to her. “Is this any good?”

                “What is it?” Ben’s mother takes it with a frown; it turns to a smile as she skims it over. “Oh, this is supposed to be a résumé! Ben, it’s okay. I told you, you don’t need to think about all this-“

                “Is it any good, though?”

                “It’s…” She tries not to make a face. “It’s a good first start, sweetie."

                Ben leans forward. “Okay. What should I change about it?”

                “Ben, really, you don’t need to worry about all this. I’m taking care of it, okay?”

                “But I want to help, Mom. You’ve already got so much you have to deal with and I feel like I’m just adding to that and…” He looks up, and trails off. “Mom?”

                His mother’s got tears in her eyes. She sniffs, and takes one hand off the résumé she’s gripping so tightly to wipe them away.

                “I’m so sorry,” she says, quietly. “I shouldn’t have ever brought that up in the car… I didn’t ever mean to make you feel like a burden.”

                Ben cringes. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just thought-“

                “You’re not a burden. You’re wonderful, and I...” She turns away. “I’m so sorry, I’m such a… terrible person, I… oh, my god. I’m so sorry…”

                “Mom, you’re not terrible. Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean… I just wanted to help.”

                He watches his mother sit down on the couch, putting her head in her hands. He watches, and he sits there stiff as a board, and his jaw works as a million words flash across the tip of his tongue. None come out, the moment stretches uncomfortably long, and he checks his phone.

                “I have to go to school.” He finally manages.

                No reply.

He looks down at the wrap on his plate, and picks it up. Stands with a creak of his chair, and awkwardly shuffles over to her.

                She’s full on sobbing. Ben stares at her for a second, and then looks around the room – he doesn’t know why he’s doing that. Who’s he looking for? They’re alone. He moves his arm like he wants to touch her shoulder, but then he pulls back, bends down, and places the plate on the coffee table in front of her.

                “Here,” He says. And then, lamely: “Sorry.”

                No reply.

                Ben backs away. Grabs his bag. Hurries out the door, without another word.

                He’s still thinking of something to say.

 

* * *

 

                Dan’s on other side of the classroom when Ben walks in, laughing with his friends and barely shooting him a glance. He only goes back to his seat when the bell rings and Bonder strides to the front, telling everyone to “Sit down, we have a lot to get through today!”

                They don’t get through much at all. Five minutes into Bonder’s lecture, he starts clucking like a chicken.

                “What the- _cluck!_ – what is going on?” Bonder steps back from the whiteboard. “Hey! Stop laughing! This is – _cluck_! – not funny!”

                Amid the laughter, Ben notices Dan stash some dry erase pens in his backpack.

                “I’m – _cluck!_ – done! I don’t care anymore! You – _cluck!_ – you kids are just brats! Just – _ca-caaaw!_ – brats and I’m not dealing with this shit _anymore_!”

                Bonder storms out, throwing his papers down and slamming the door behind him. Dan shakes his head.

                “Wow. Haven’t seen him do that before.” He shoots a grin at Ben. “You think he’s serious? Or…”

                Ben just stares at Dan. He trails off, his smile turning crooked and then dropping off his face altogether.

                They both turn away from each other.

 

* * *

 

                School’s more of the same. A bell rings. Off he goes.

                “Hi! Hey! Ben!”

                He’s fiddling with the anchor charm when he hears his name. He turns, and sees a black car pulling up alongside him.

                “Mom.” Ben stashes the charm. “Hi. I didn’t think you were going to pick me up.”

                She pushes open the door. “What? Haha, no, why’d you think that? How was your day, sweetie?”

                Ben shrugs. “It was okay, I guess. How about…?”

                He glances at her. She smiles back at him, but there’s something in her expression that makes him hesitate.

                “My day?” Her smile gets a little wider. “I didn’t really do anything – anything useful, at least. Just a whole lot of nothing.”

                “Sounds relaxing.”

                His mother’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Relaxing.”

                Ben cringes. He reaches forwards, and turns on the radio. It’s advertisements; he tries another two, three stations, and then gives up and sits back.

                Advertisements, all the way home. A song starts up just as they pull up by the house. His mother takes out the keys, and it cuts to silence.

                She stays there for a moment, staring at her lap. Ben takes one look at her face, and he can see _that_ kind of conversation coming on. His mind flashes to that morning - oh, no. No, thank you.

                “I have homework.” He says, and grabs his bag. He opens the door. “Thanks. For the lift.”

                No reply. He doesn’t wait for one. Out the door he goes, into his house, straight for his room.

                Into his room. Thank god. He drops his bag, and slumps down onto his bed. Another day.

                Another stupid day.

                Ben lifts his head, and looks over at his desk. There’s so many sketchbooks piled up on the surface, most of them ragged with sheets he’d torn out to show his mom. One’s balanced on the only clear corner, open to a blank page.

                He sees that, and he feels a cold weight on his neck. He puts his head back down, lets it sink into the bedsheets.

                Before Ben even knows it, he’s closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

                Ben lets it ring. He just lets it ring, and ring, and ring, until it doesn’t even feel like a sound to him anymore. It’s just something unbearable that’s always been there.

                A knock on his door.

                “Ben? Sweetie?” His mom. He groans. “Are you up?”

                He reaches for the alarm… his phone’s not where he expected it to be. It’s still in his pocket – and of course it’s only at half charge. Screw you too.

                “Ben?”

                Ben heaves himself to his feet. “It’s okay, Mom, I’m up.”

                “Okay! Just checking. You don’t want to miss school!” A laugh. “Or worse, breakfast!”

                Ben looks down at his bag. He picks it up, feels its weight, feels the way it sways and pushes against the side of his leg.

                He puts it on.

                …

                Okay, why does he feel so awful and grimy right now? What’s wrong? He’s got his bag, he’s dressed, he’s-

                He’s still in the clothes he wore when he went to sleep. Oh. Duh.

                Ben shrugs off the backpack and lets it drop on the floor. He picks through his pile of clothes while also unbuttoning the shirt he has on; a button gets caught around the anchor charm, and he shakes it and he shakes it but it won’t come free – he has to stop sorting through the pile and stand by the mirror just to sort out what’s gone wrong with this stupid-

                “Ben? Breakfast!”

                “I’m coming!” He snaps, and he’s surprised by the heat in his voice. “Um, I mean, one second! Sorry, just need to…”

                The button comes loose. Ben dresses quickly, and hurries out the door- bag. He almost forgot his bag.

                Ben opens the door, and shuffles out into another day.

                "Good morning, Ben!"

                Doesn’t feel that much different from the last.


	12. Chapter 12

                …

* * *

 

                Another day.

* * *

 

                ….

* * *

 

                Another day.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day, and they all feel like the one before. Oh, things happen. Things change, but they don’t change for him all that much.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day. His mom doesn’t greet him with a, “Good morning, Ben!”

                That’s nothing new.

                He sits there and eats dry cereal.

                Ben’s done that before.

                He stares down at his sketchbook. Crumbs get on the page, and he wipes them away.

                Clean, and white, and barren. Nothing, nothing new.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day. There’s been a different substitute teacher in Bonder’s class every time he walks in; some are strict, some don’t care so much. Dan always tries to sit with his friends on the other side of the classroom; sometimes they don’t notice, sometimes they order him back to his assigned seat.

                It all feels the same to Ben. No matter where Dan sits, he doesn’t talk to him. The classes and the teachers and the worksheets all blur together.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day. His mom’s here again – no, “Good morning, Ben!”

                More like a, “Oh, there you are. There you… Good, um, good sleep?”

                Her hair’s a bit frazzled, and she’s tapping a pattern against the counter. She’s already poured his cereal, and she sits across from him and just stares at him like he’s the only food she’ll ever need. He looks up once, and she tries to twist it into a smile, but it doesn’t hide that bright shine in her eye, that uncomfortable intensity Ben can feel like the sun on his face.

He turns his head down and he keeps it down, eating cereal and praying for a little shade.

                Not a word between them. She sinks lower, and Ben tries not to notice the little sniffling sounds coming from across the table; abruptly she stands up, and with a murmur that might have been “-just going to the bathroom-“ she stumbles to the hall and back into her bedroom.

                Ben stares down at his dry cereal, and his empty sketchbook, and the sinking feeling in his chest that might be the last time he sees her for a while. The sinking feeling… mixed with a bit of relief.

                All so familiar.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day. Another lunch all alone. Ben’s staring down at his sketchbook, pencil in hand, tip pressed to the paper. Pressed, pressed until there’s a grainy dot. A little harder… and _snap_.

                He grimaces, and shakes the dust off. A squiggle stays in the middle of the white, and it only blurs a bit when he tries to rub it away. He sharpens his pencil and stares down at it.

                Looks a bit like a Z. He neatens up the edges; yeah, a little Z.

                Z Z Z.

                Z Z Z Z Z.

                Ben draws a little stick figure underneath them, sleeping soundly.

 

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day. Another long walk home from school. No one greets him when he walks in the door, and it’s eerily silent as he goes to his room.

                Bag comes off. Shoulders stretch. Ah, that’s better.

                (Not completely better. There’s still a weight, a constant weight-)

                Ben sits down on his chair. Takes out his phone, taps out some words and scrolls though it for a little while, and then he finds what he’s looking for. Sets it on the desk, then leans down and fishes out his sketchbook.

                He flips to a page near the end of it. It’s not blank this time; there’s a rough outline of a man in a bed, the sun shining through the blinds and onto his face.

                Ben sets a sharpened pencil to the man’s nose, and checks his phone. He glances over the reference photo of a person’s sleeping face, and shades in his lip a little bit. Stops. Checks again. Tries to picture it like he did with his dreams, tries to hold the image in his head and put it down on paper.

                It’s slow going, but it feels so good to be productive again. Hours later it’s finished, and he sits back to admire his work. His stomach is growling, he realizes. What’s for dinner?

                Good question.

                Ben carefully tears out his drawing, stands up, and heads for the pantry. The sun’s going down fast, and the house is dark; he feels for a switch in the hallway, runs his hand along the wall as he walks past the living room. Shadows play on the growing pile of dishes in the sink. He can’t even make out the table until he flicks on the lights.

                _Flick_. Three lamps dangling above the counter buzz to life, and Ben lays his artwork on the table before moving to the pantry.

                _Flick. Bzz_.

                He stands before the shelves, his arms crossed as he looks them over. Well, there’s still some bread and some fruit cups – those are good. The last banana’s looking a little wizened, but he takes that too. A pack of chips. One cookie… no, two.

                Mints? Ben reaches in the bowl, and freezes. There are a _lot_ more in here the last time he checked; now there’s only three.

                Hmm. Was that Alcor or his mom who did that? It was one of them, he knew that much.

                Ben takes a mint. Then he backs away, and steals back to his room, his hands full of the snacks that are supposed to be his dinner.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day. It’s not such a bad one, actually. Last night he took a picture of himself pulling at the anchor chain in the mirror, and over breakfast he started drawing that out.

                Dan’s sitting in his assigned seat when Ben walks in. That’s new. Oh, he’s waving, too.

                “Hey, dude.” Dan says with a smile. Ben can’t quite find it in himself to return it.

                “Uh, hey.” He sits down, and pulls out his sketchbook.

                “Are you drawing something?”

                Ben covers the page with his arm. “Yeah.”

                “Cool, cool. What’re you drawing?”

                “A… necklace.”

                Dan pauses, like he’s waiting for Ben to say something else. Eventually he gets it, and his smile stretches. “Oh, cool. Necklace.” He turns back to the front. “Well, have fun with that, dude.”

                “I will… I guess. Thanks.”

                Ben shoots him glances as class starts. Another new substitute walks in the door and starts listing off names; Dan says ‘here’, and then Ben says ‘here’, and then she starts handing out worksheets.

                “Oh, shoot.” Dan says as soon as a paper hits his desk. “Left my schoolbag at home.”

                Ben looks under his desk; sure enough, there’s no bag. He raises his eyebrow. “How’d you do that?”

                “That’s what my dad keeps asking.” He chuckles. “You got a spare pencil, dude?”

                Ben offers his. “Here.”

                “Thanks. You’re the greatest friend in the whole wide world, you know that?”

                That came out of nowhere. He blinks. “Really?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Oh. Um, I’m… glad you think that. Thank you.”

                Dan sits back, a lazy grin on his face. “Don’t mention it.”

                Ben ducks his head. He hides a smile as he fishes out his pencilcase. After a moment, Dan speaks again.

                “No, really, don’t mention it.” He jabs a thumb at the group sitting on the other side of the classroom. “Those guys think they’re the greatest; they’d be pret-ty upset if they realised you were number one.”

                Ben just stares. Dan looks over at him, and snorts.

                “Your face, dude! It’s a joke. I’m joking.”

                “Oh.” Ben gives a laugh. “Good one. Hah. That’s… funny.”

                Dan laughs with him. It’s awkward, but it’s kind of nice, actually. It’s like they’re hanging out again.

                Then Ben catches sight of the wires glinting in his teeth, and he can’t help but wonder whether he deserves this second chance.

 

* * *

 

                Lunch is good. Ben finishes his sketch. It looks different to the pieces he did about his dreams – more realistic, more grounded, somehow. He’s not sure if he likes drawing in this style as much, but it’s still something to do, something to show his mom when he gets home.

                The bell rings, and Ben gathers up his supplies. Pencil in pencilcase, pencilcase in bag, sketchbook wedged in between his books. He stands up, and starts down the hall…

                Hesitates. Then a smile pulls at his lips, and he turns to go the other way.

                He walks. Around him, people linger by their lockers, getting one last laugh in with their friends before they head off to class. Chatter fills the corridor, and Ben’s coming up on a stairwell.

                Is he…?

                No. Damn, Dan and his friends are already gone. Ben feels a tinge of disappointment, but he shrugs it off and continues on.

                Oh, well. This way’s faster, anyway.

 

* * *

 

                Ben’s walking home when it happens.

                A sudden weight on his back. It crumples him, and with a yelp he goes knees palms _nose_.

                “Aack!” Ben slaps a hand over his face. There’s still that weight pressing down on his chest, his lungs – what the hell?

                “My backpack?”

                He rolls, and his backpack thuds to the sidewalk – the weight is gone. Ben shimmies out of the straps and stumbles to his feet.

                His knees twinge at that. His back hurts. He pulls his fingers away from his nose – no blood, thank the stars. It still stings, though.

                Ben breathes. Okay.

                Now, what on earth just happened to his backpack?

                He leans down – ow, ow – and heaves it upright. Finding the zipper, he opens it up, and immediately, something’s glinting at him. His binder looks weird; it’s turned a strange gold colour, and it’s shining in the sunlight. He touches it. It feels like cold metal.

                Like metal… like gold. Ben feels his stomach _drop_.

                He snatches his pencilcase out of his bag – shoot, that’s gold too, goddammit – and tugs at the zipper, tugs tugs tugs but it won’t budge. The whole thing’s solid gold, and so’s his math workbook, and so’s his history study guide, and so’s his-

                So’s his sketchbook.

                Ben pulls it out of his bag, and holds it. It’s cold, and far heavier than he’s used to. The pages won’t flip; they’re fused together. He tries anyway, tries to dig his fingernails in the little gaps and pry and pull them apart because goddammit, god _fucking_ dammit Dan and his _fucking_ Midas runes and his _fucking_ smile and his laugh and telling him they’re friends – no, the _greatest friends_ – _like it was all SOME FUCKING KIND OF FUCKING JOKE TO HIM_ -

                “ _Well it’s not FUNNY_!”

                Ben chucks the sketchbook at the ground. It _clangs_ against the concrete and clatters away. There’s a crack where it hit.

                Ben stares at it. He stares, and his fists clenches, and he breathes, and he _breathes_ , in out in out in out-

                In. He grits his teeth.

                Out. He lets it go, and he sinks back, leans himself against a nearby wall like the anger was the only thing keeping him upright. He stares down at the crack, and at the glittering sketchbook face-down on the sidewalk. He feels the knock in his knees, the rumbling in his stomach, the sun beating down on his sore, sore shoulders.

                His heart’s still thumping, but there’s just… there’s nothing. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. This whole thing is stupid, Dan’s stupid, and he’s stupid for caring so much. Why should he, you know? It’s not like anyone around here cares about him.

                He’s just… he’s done.

                Ben leaves his backpack in the street.

                He’s done.

* * *

 

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day. Ben went right to sleep after the incident yesterday, and hours passed like seconds. His alarm beeps, and he considers just ignoring it, letting a few more seconds tick by.

                He doesn’t.

                He doesn’t know why he doesn’t – everything’s still sore from the incident yesterday, and he’s not just talking about his back. He’d like nothing more but to roll over and close his eyes again, but doesn’t. He gets up. He’s gonna go to school without a backpack or a pencilcase or a textbook or any of his notes – it’s gonna be a _fun_ day, he can tell.

                After shrugging on some clothes, Ben walks down the hallway, past the kitchen, past the pantry, and out the door. No breakfast today, then. Alright.

                The sun’s not even out yet. No cars are on the road. It’s a bit chilly; he hugs his arms to his chest and thinks about how much nicer a walk this is when he’s not lugging around a giant backpack. It’s almost like he’s weightless.

                He reaches into his shirt and grasps the anchor charm.

                Almost.

                He keeps walking. One step. Another step, another step, another and another on and on and on. He’s coming up on a crack in the pavement. He can’t see his bag. At first he thinks it’s gone, but then he spots it leaning up against the wall; clearly someone moved it.

                His sketchbook is there too. He hesitates, and then he picks it up. His backpack… he makes a halfhearted attempt to lift it, but it’s like a bag of rocks. It’s not going anywhere.

                Ben leaves it. The sky lightens as he walks, and he can see his school coming up on the other side of the street. He crosses the road, crosses through the gates, crosses across the campus and then into the building. The halls are quieter than he’s used to, and when he gets to class only one or two people are in their seats. Dan is not among them.

                Ben takes his seat, and waits.

                People file in slowly. The silence turns to whispering, turns to murmuring, turns to chattering and laughing, and finally something bangs against the door. A second later it flies open, and one of Dan’s friends stumbles into the room and catches himself on a desk.

                “Dude!” With a snicker, he whirls around and grabs at the pusher. “You’re such an asshole, man!”

                They have a little wrestling match right under the doorframe. The rest of the group shoves into the classroom in a similar disorderly fashion.

                Aaand, there’s Dan. Ben spots him first, trying and failing to jump up and piggyback onto another kid. He’s laughing; his head turns, and he glances over in Ben’s direction.

                Their eyes meet. Dan’s smile drops off his face. Ben watches him slow right down; he tries to hide himself in behind his friends, but one of them stops and jabs a finger at the notebook lying on Ben’s desk.

                “Yo, Dan! You actually did it! It looks like solid gold!” He grins at Ben. “He got you, didn’t he!”

                Dan’s avoiding eye contact. Ben stares him down, and the guy dissolves into cackling.

                “Oh, dude, look at that face! He looks _pissed_!” He claps Dan on the back. “I think you really got him!”

                “Haha.” Dan gives a tight smile. “Yup. Just a fun joke. Don’t be mad, Ben, it takes like five seconds to reverse the rune.”

                “And it takes what, like two months of your jaw being wired shut for that to heal?” His friend is grinning at Ben; it’s not a pleasant grin. “You’re letting him off easy. This is payback!”

                Dan shakes his head. “It’s not-“

                “Payback! Payback! Payback!”

                The whole group chants at Ben. Dan’s the one who it seems to be affecting, though; he shrinks away from them, and gives Ben a shrug and a smile that’s awkward mixed with apologetic mixed with helpless – helpless, like these aren’t _his_ friends chanting for _his_ payback because of what _he_ did to Ben’s sketchbook.

                Ben just stares him down. Dan’s expression crumples further; he looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and disappear as the guy who started the chanting leans forward and picks up the sketchbook.

                “Oh, wow, that weighs a ton! I bet it was a surprise when it all turned to gold on you.” He chuckles at Ben, and there’s an edge to it. “Must’ve made you think twice about picking on someone half your size, huh?”

                Ben doesn’t respond to that.

                “Are you… gonna say anything? Is there anything going on up there?” After a moment, the guy pushes himself back up. “Alright. You creep. C’mon, Dan, I bet you can sit with us if we get there before the sub comes in”

                The whole group moves off. Dan hangs back.

                “Yeah! Thanks guys, let’s, uh… one second.” He holds out his hand. “Give me the sketchbook, Ben. I’ll fix it real quick.”

                Ben stares at his hand, and then back up at his face. Dan gives a nervous laugh.

                “Don’t worry. No pranks this time round, promise.” Ben watches his smile stretch. “Are you… are you just gonna sit there? Dude, lighten up. It was just a joke. You know I’d never actually mess with your drawings. Come on, give it here and-“

                He reaches for the sketchbook. Ben doesn’t let it go.

                “Are you serious right now?” He tugs. “Look, I just need it for five seconds and then you can have it back. It’s a really simple spell… dude. Ben. Just let me fix it.”

                Ben leans his weight on the sketchbook.

                “What, you want it to stay like that? Are you trying to make me feel bad or something, because that’s real mature of you.” Dan steps back, his eyebrows setting in a hard line. “And the silent treatment, too. Wow, I didn’t realize we went back to kindergarten today. You know what? Screw you, dude. I was just having fun. I was only trying to help. Could’ve taken five seconds to fix your dumb sketchbook, but whatever. Enjoy your paperweight.”

                He starts to walk away, but then he stops and turns around for another go.

                “Also, you’re not impressing anyone with your little pity party, by the way. You’re just being pathetic. You don’t have anything to say to that, do you?” He bares his teeth in the silence. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re being the asshole, Ben, okay? Me, I don’t care. Do what you want. I don’t care. Enjoy your paperweight – oh, and you know Midas gold is worthless, right? It really is just a paperweight, and I was gonna fix it, buuuut… ugh, whatever. That’s on you, I don’t care. Not my problem, Ben, that’s yours.”

                He stalks off, and Ben watches him take a seat in the middle of his wide-eyed group of friends. The whole class, for once, is silent. You could hear a pin drop as the bell rang, and a substitute hurried into the room with a big binder and a stack of worksheets.

                “Hello! That’s not the late bell, is it?” She looks around the room, and raises her eyebrows. “Huh. Quiet bunch, you are. Feels like a Monday morning! Well, I’m going to pass around these worksheets and call roll… Um, yeah, that’s it. Normally I’d tell you here to keep your chatter at a conversational level, but it doesn’t look like I need to with you guys. Cool. Alright, do we have a… Jake Adriss?”

                She calls out names, and the worksheets make their way around the room to Ben. He lays it on his sketchbook and stares down at it.

                He doesn't have a pencil.

                “Psst.”

                A noise from a few desks over. Ben looks up to see one of his classmates offering him a pen. What’s his name? He has no idea.

                Still, he reaches over and takes it. “Thanks.”

                “No problem.” Says the guy. He then turns back to his worksheet, and Ben twiddles with the pen in his hands. Great, now people are feeling sorry for him. Isn’t he glad he came in to school today? Think of how much _fun_ he’d be missing out on if he was all nice and curled up in his bed right now.

                And he still had so much of the day left to go. When the bell rang, Ben handed the pen back, picked up his sketchbook, and shambled out the door, ready to face whatever else the universe is planning to throw at him today.

* * *

 

…

* * *

 

                Nothing much. Nothing dramatic, anyway; the whole day was an endless hunt for pens and pencils, culminating in a lucky find just after lunch when he discovered one abandoned on his desk.

                Then he walks home. Then he goes to sleep.

                Nothing exciting. Nothing dramatic.

 

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Then he wakes up, for another day.

 

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day, where nothing happens.

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day, where Dan still hates his guts.

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day, where he walks home to a dark house, a closed door at the end of the hallway and dishes piling up in the sink.

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day, where he has to be just a bit more creative with the pantry than the one that came before.

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day, as dull and blank as the static of his dreams.

 

* * *

 

                …

* * *

 

                Another day, where he goes to sleep as soon as he gets home from school, and yet he still feels bone-tired when he hears his alarm go beep, beep, beep, _beep, beep, beep…_

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day, and every time around

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                every BEEP BEEP BEEP

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                every stare

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                every cup of cold tea

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                every time he spots that one last mint in the bowl

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                every single thing

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                feels just a little heavier than it did the day before.

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day. Heavier.

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day.

                

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another day.

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                Another. day.

 

* * *

 

                …

 

* * *

 

                It’s the weekend. Another day, and there’s sunlight glowing against his curtains. Ben doesn’t know how long he’s been sleeping for, but all of a sudden he finds himself awake, staring up at the ceiling like he’s just popped into existence.

                He stares for a while. It’s stuffy in here, and he can feel the sweat pooling where his back meets the mattress. There’s an all round grimey feeling to his skin that makes him wonder when’s the last time he’s had a shower – doesn’t feel like that long ago, but he can’t name a date.

                An ache from his stomach. Ben closes his eyes again, hoping for a few more moments of nonexistence.

* * *

 

…

 

* * *

                He’s staring at the ceiling again. It’s dark outside, and he still needs to shower.

                Great.

                He turns onto his side, and reaches for his phone. The light makes him squint; after a moment, he makes out ‘Monday, 3:00AM’ on the screen. He heaves a sigh at that, and turns it off. He has to be up in, like… two hours or something. He could probably just get up now, have breakfast, take a shower, maybe work on some homework – you know, something productive.

                Yeah. He could do that. But there’s a weight in his bones that tells him he won’t.

                He keeps staring up at the ceiling. There’s a rectangular blotch in his vision from his phone’s glare; he watches it go from a bluish colour to a green to a fading dull red like the back of his eyelids.

                The back of his eyelids. He’s closed his eyes again, and maybe soon he’ll drift off…

                Huh.

                What’s that sound?

                …?

                That’s the kettle.

                Ben opens his eyes. He slides one foot over to the floor, and then the other. The wood feels cool against his feet; he shifts, and rolls himself up to standing position. There’s a little rush of dizziness, a tingle of pins and needles, and he waits for that to pass before he shuffles forward.

                The door he opens. The sound of the kettle gets a little louder when he pokes his head through the gap. He sees it on the counter next to a cup, glowing blue as it brings water to a boil. He looks for the person who turned it on, but she’s not in the kitchen. His eyes slide down, and he finds her on the couch, her head in her hands, barely visible in the darkness.

                She’s just sitting there, as still as a photograph. Ben watches her; he watches how the water slowly comes to a boil, then the kettle cuts off and it slowly settles down again. She doesn’t get up. She doesn’t move at all.

                Ben makes a decision. He walks out into the living room, and almost immediately he can see her jolt at the sound of his footsteps. He can feel her eyes on his back as he heads into the kitchen.

                He touches the kettle, and she springs up.

                “Oh, I’m just making tea.” Her voice is small, and it wobbles on the words. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I-I’ve got that. Do you want some?”

                “No, thank you. Are you sure you don’t-”

                “No! No, it’s okay, Ben. Ben.”

                She’s trying to grab at the kettle. Ben frowns at her.

                “Ben, it’s hot water.”

                “Okay. I’ll be careful.”

                “Ben, it’s okay, I can just-“ She flinches when he lifts the kettle. “Be careful! Look, please put that down. Let me do that.”

                He stares down at her. She’s smooshed herself against his back trying to get the kettle. This is…

                This is just ridiculous.

                “Mom, I can pour a cup of tea.” He says, and she stiffens. “I’m not going to burn myself.”

                “Yes, but I can-“

                “You can’t. You just leave them lying around the kitchen for me to clean up.” His mother steps back. He adds, “I don’t mind, that’s just what I noticed. So I wanted to take care of this for… you. Mom?”

                She’s covered her face. He hears her murmur something, in that undertone people use when their throat’s too tight to raise their voice.

                “Mom?”

                “Ben, I-I’m… I…” She breathes a shudder, gasps a breath, and continues. “I-I’m the one wh-who’s supp-posed to be t-taking care of you.”

                He watches her curl up over the counter.

                “A-and I’m not, a-and you feel like you ha-have to…” A tremor. A clenched fist. A breath held between her teeth that pushes out into a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I-I’m s-sorr-ry, I-I…”

                He watches her cry. Her shoulders shake like an earthquake, and he watches, but they just keep going.

                “Mom?” He asks. No reply. He puts down the kettle. “Mom, I’m sorry.”

                “You’re sorry.” A short laugh comes from under his mother’s arms. “You’re wonderful, Ben. I-I don’t d-deserve you…”

                More sobbing. Ben finds himself leaning away from her. His hand’s around the anchor charm, fiddling with it, pulling at it. He stares at it as he tries to think of something to say; nothing comes. Nothing, nothing comes.

                “Ben…” There’s movement on the counter. His mother lifts her head, and turns it away from his. He can still see her wiping her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been gone again – I-I’m not trying to avoid you, I just… I don’t want to be like this around you.”

                “It’s okay.” He says, and he sees her tense. That wasn’t the right thing to say.

                “It’s not okay.” Her voice is flat. “Look at this house. It’s not okay, Ben. I know it’s not, but what am I doing to fix it?” Another laugh. It’s just a noise she pushed out of her lungs. “Nothing. I’m a dead weight. I _hate_ it.”

                Ben watched her stare down at her fists. Slowly, she unclenches them, lets her fingers spread out wide over the counter. She looks over at him, but she doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

                “It’s been a while since I’ve been shopping. What did you have for dinner?”

                “Um…” Ben squeezes the anchor charm. “Lots of things, uh…”

                She grimaces. “Alright. Do you have enough for breakfast?”

                “Yeah.”

                “What do you have?”

                “I’ve got cereal.”

                She raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

                “Yes! Yes, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

                “Hm.” His mother stares off into space, like she’s deep in thought. Then she looks over at the counter, and grabs her car keys. “You know what, I’m not going to do it if I wait till morning. I’ll do it now.”

                “You’re going shopping?”

                “Well, I’m not going back to bed. I’m not.” She runs a hand through her hair, and makes a face. “Maybe a shower first… no. I’m going to do something useful first. Okay. Okay!”

                And there’s a bit of a smile. She finally looks at Ben, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

                “Ben, things are going to get better from now on, okay?” That smile’s gone. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this to you. From here on out, I’m taking care of you. I’m not going to let this happen again, okay?”

                Ben watches her. Ben watches her pause. Ben watches her open her mouth, and say two words he’s heard so many times before.

                “I promise.”

                He squeezes the anchor charm, and something _breaks_ in his chest. He freezes, his eyes going wide, his breath catching in his throat.

                “Ben? Did you hear me?”

                Ben just nods. He nods a lot, and he steps away.

                His mother tries for a smile. “Okay. I’ll see you later. I love you, so much.”

                “Yeah. Love, um, love you too.”

                He waits. He listens. The door opens and shuts, and he’s alone.

 _Alone_.

                Ben looks down, at his fist. It’s shaking slightly, and he’s breathing hard – his heart is hammering in his chest, roaring in his ears. Slowly, carefully, he opens his fist…

                And reveals the fragments of his crushed anchor charm sticking into his palm.

                He’s weightless. He’s untethered. He’s _free_.

                Suddenly, it’s terrifying.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big note for body horror in this chapter.

                The Midway Bar is flattened. No, exploded. No, crushed. Splitered beams and shattered glass float freely in the Mindscape, bar stools tipping legs over seat, legs over seat. Blue magic crackles in the air, crackles and pops and fizzles out.

                Figures traverse the destruction. They’re little figures, some of them wreathed in flames, some of them covered in spines, some of them shadowy, smoky, undefined. They crawl through the destruction, grabbing pieces of brick from the debris and licking them all over.

                Sometimes, they’ll find something. A shimmering scrap of soul, clinging to the underside. They’ll suck it into their mouths like an oyster from its shell, and whatever’s left of Tortugagger will burst and squirt and screech and dribble down their chin as they chew.

                Tastes like the moment Alcor wrapped his claws around their jawbone.

 _Delicious_.

                (Delicious)

                O̕h, so ̧d̸e̡licio͟u͠s.

                The Midway Bar is burned to the ground. The air is thick with cinders, and a soul appears, their glow catching like sunbeams through dust. Light, in the darkness. Figures stop, turn, and look.

                (Look, look.)

                The soul is sitting on what’s left of a chair. It tilts sideways in the air, and the soul’s holding the burned scrap of a red napkin. He smiles, and chugs it.

 _Look_.

                (Look, there he is.)

_Look, there he is._

                Tḩer̵e̴ ̛h͞e ̵is. 

                The soul puts his glass down on the table, and looks over at the approaching shadows. He tilts his head. “Huh. Thought there’d be actual demons here. You guys are just a bunch of bottomfeeders – where’s the real deals?”

                A growl. A _hissing_. The soul laughs.

                “Cute.”

                (Bill, Alcor…)

_Brought Alcor brought Alcor BROUGHT ALCOR BROUGHT ALCOR_

_T̨r͜ait̸or._

                They bristle and bear their teeth, but hang back. A tight circle forms around the soul’s chair, and he sits forwards.

                “Alright. I need you soulsuckers to send a message for me.”

                An arm. The soul shoots his out, and there’s a yelp and a frantic scramble away. He pulls back, one struggling, shadowy figure held tight in his grasp. A grin splits the soul’s face as he brings it up to eye level.

                “Hi, buddy. Notice anything different?”

                The shadow’s thrashing slows. It has no face, but its entire body goes rigid.

 _I can sense…_ It starts to tremble. _I can sense… human._

                The word ripples across the gathering like waves in oil.

                (Human?)

 _Human_.

                (Bill, human?)

                (Soul.)

                (Human soul.)

_Human soul HUMAN SOUL_

                Human͝ ͝sou͟l. _Min̸e._

                Eyes are opening in the sky. Powerful presences shift their attentions to that little glowing speck lounging in a corner seat, and the hunger of their gaze is palpable.

_Ḥ͈̹͎͓̣̲UMAN ̪̬̗̲̟̦ͅS̝̘͚̹̞O̴̜͚̥̦͔̗U̼̺L̢̪̺̱̗̙̝̮_

 

                And the soul says, “Finally. I thought Alcor was gonna show up and rip me to pieces before you slow pokes-“

                The shadow in his hand whips around and bites his arm. Teeth sink into his skin; he stiffens, takes a sharp breath, and lets it out with a grin.

                “Hah. Pain. That’s hilarious.” He watches tentacles creep across the wreckage, hulking demons lumbering in his direction, eyes staring down at him, getting closer, closer. The grin stretches on his face. “Better you guys than Dadrone, I guess.”

                It all happens so quickly. Something tackles the soul from behind – a great boarlike demon with eyes of fire digs its claws into his back, double row teeth bared for the kill. The slow approach, the soap bubble spell of calm pops, and suddenly it’s a free for all as two, three demons lunge at the boar.

_M̱͈̺͇͖̯I͚Ṋ̣͇̬͟ͅE̪̯̼͜ M͓͎̮I̙͔͕̗N̯̥̥͍͖͔͘E̲̳̲͇͇̞͇̕ ͔M͕̠͓̤̤IN͠E̛͕ ̱̻̙̦G̰͠I̹͎̮V̠̹͍̦̳͚ͅE̜͚̦̙̹̤̖ ̰I̸̜T̻̘ ̙͟T̲̠̝͈O̠͚͓̦ ͇̜̦͕͞M̼̤̦̱̩E͖̲̮̬̯͖̬͘_

 

                Pushing and shoving, biting and clawing, every demon in the Mindscape descends on the soul. It’s nothing like Tortugagger; they didn’t come for his pain, but to carve out their piece of the pie. Claws rip flesh off his skin, teeth bite down on toes and snap them off like carrot sticks, one-two bites before they’re pulled off and another demon moves in.

                There’s a tugging at his spine, a prying up of his shoulderblades as all manner of appendages wedge themselves between ribs and reach for sweet organs. A few seconds of this, then they flip him and dig into his stomach – much easier.

                The soul looks, and watches them yank fat entrails from his belly. He feels them unwind, feels his stomach slip out of his ribcage, feels the line go taut at the back of his throat, the flesh of his mouth stretching and straining in a way he truly has no words to describe.

                Pinpricks on his face. The soul watches little demons slip past the fray, crawling up to his eyes and appearing like blurry shadows as they peer close.

                Then they reach out, and they appear like fuzzy flashes, like a thousand rods and cones screaming out as they poke through the cornea, hook claws through the pupil and _pull_. There’s a snap that comes from behind his ears, and suddenly his soul is seeing without eyes.

                Seeing it all get taken away. Everything he is, being ripped out and fought over, torn apart and devoured. The pain is like being dipped in lava; it’s everywhere, it’s inescapable and it won’t stop until every bit of him is burned up, scattered to the wind, gone.

                And he just can’t stop laughing at the thought.

                It’s all fading out now, a darkness pressing in at the edges of his vision and muffling the roars above his head. Everything dulls, and maybe he’s not even laughing anymore. There’s not enough of him left to know what that would sound like.

                The soul has no eyelids left, but he feels them droop anyway. Gradually, they slide down, the darkness closing in, the last blurry moments of vision looking at something blue.

                It flickers.

                Like fire, he’d think, if he had a single thought left in his soul.


	14. Chapter 14

                Alcor’s proud of himself. He hasn’t said ‘I told you so’ yet.

                “Spit it out.”

                He’s standing in the ruins of the Midway Bar. Again. And he’s holding a very sheepish looking demon.

                “Spit what out?” It says. He shakes it, and it squeaks.

                 “Don’t play stupid with me, Satan. Spit out the soul!”

                “Oh, the soul. The soul. Right.”

                “Are you gonna spit it out?” He digs his claws into the demon’s form. “Or do I have to t͝a̴kę ͢i̴t from you?”

                “No, no! I’ll spit it out! I’ll spit it out.” It nods. “I’m definitely going to spit it out. That’s… that’s what’s going to happen, in just a few-“

                Alcor sighs deeply, and then rips the demon in two. He picks the shining soul out of the screaming sludge, and tucks it into his breast pocket. Then, he lets go of the demon, lets its form ooze off his arms and plop onto the pile of all the other demons he ‘nicely asked’.

                He hears their moaning and groaning, and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why I keep giving you guys the benefit of the doubt. You’re all literally demons.”

                The soul is in his hands. Just a tiny scrap, just a little flicker, but it glows, and he curls his lip.

                “Give you an inch, and you take a mile. Try to be nice, and you go behind my back. Save you from a torture demon, give you one – _one!_ – request not to come back to the Mindscape, and what do you do with that! Where do I find you?”

                Alcor turns, and snarls at the heap of soul on the floor.

                “You never change, Bill.”

                The soul just looks at him, stares at him without eyes. He’s all limp, and pieces of him are still strewn about the bar; Alcor can’t tell if he’s even together enough to listen.

                That makes him grin, a little.

                “I don’t know what you came back here for. What even was your plan, man?” The grin stretches, sharpens. “Trying to rally the last of your followers, I bet. With your _human_ soul – oh, man, I wish I could’ve seen your face when they all turned on you like that! I told you this was gonna happen, Bill. I told you, but I guess you’d rather get torn up by demons just to stick it to me one more time, right?”

                He kneels down in front of the soul, and opens his palm. The little glowing scrap melds with the rest of the body, and the soul shifts a little. Looks down, then back up at Alcor, who waves.

                “Are you there now? Can you understand me?”

                The soul nods.

                “Good. Cause I’m not putting you back together again.” An unpleasant smile snakes across his face. “You’re going back to Ben, and he and I are going to have a talk.”

                The soul looks down again. He stares at his hands, at his stubbed fingers and glistening bones. He looks past them, at his ribs sliding back into his chest, at the fissures in his stomach, slowly mending.

                He pokes at the skin, feels the ragged edges, and the organs nestled underneath.

                “Yeah, you tore yourself up pretty bad. That’s what happens when you mess with demons.” Alcor watches him put another hand on the biggest gash. “That’s karma… what are you doing?”

                In one motion, the soul digs his fingers in and tears himself apart.

                Alcor’s smile vanishes.

                “What the hell? What are you-“ Guts spilled on the ground, and the soul reached for his face. “Stop. Stop!”

                His legs won’t work; the soul’s mouth comes away from the gums, and then they do. Alcor grabs his wrists.

                “Let me go!” The soul jerks back. His voice comes out as a shriek, piercing and desperate and cracking at the highest pitches. “Let go of me! _Let go of me and leave me alone_!”

                “Hey! Calm down, I’m not gonna-”

                “Let me go just let me go let me go let me go-”

                Alcor holds the thrashing soul. He feels something flop onto his shoe – It’s a loop of intestine. With a grimace, he moves his foot back.

                “Let me go!”

                “Not until you calm down and stop hurting yourself.”

                “What does that matter to you!” The soul shoots him a furious look. “You don’t care about me! You don’t even like me! Just let me go, let me start over… let me go… let me…”

                He chokes up, and trails off. The struggling slows. Alcor gets a terrible feeling lodged in his throat, a creeping certainty that he’s misjudged this entire situation.

_Let me start over…_

                The demon mauling. That wasn’t where the plan failed, was it.

                With a final kick, the soul slumps against his legs. He’s limp and his guts are looped around a piece of table leg, but his fists are still balled. After a moment, he speaks.

                “Nice job, Pinetree.” Says the soul. His voice is dull. Hoarse. “You managed to screw it all up again.”

                Alcor feels him tug at his wrists one more time. He lets go, and the soul’s hands drift down to his sides.

                The soul starts a sigh, and ends it as a dry chuckle.

                “I really hate you, you know. You ruined everything at the Transcendence.” He clenches a hand. “I had the whole world right at my fingertips, but then you and your friends… you took everything from me.”

                Alcor just stands there. His mouth opens a little, but no words come.

                “I was going to rule the multiverse. I was going to have so much fun ripping you and your friends and your planet to pieces… but look at me now. I’m _weak_.” His words drip with contempt. “I’m _human_ – and right now, I’m a particularly pathetic example of one, too. ‘Oh, no, look at me, I’m Ben! I’m sad about my mommy and I let people push me around aaaall day! I _could_ crush their windpipes, but I think I’ll just cry in my room instead.’ You see? He’s a joke. You turned me into a joke, Pinetree.”

                The soul suddenly breaks out into laughter. Alcor jumps, and finally he finds his voice.

                “You lost, Bill.” The soul keeps cackling; the ragged edge to it sets his teeth on edge. “You don’t like being human? Well, I don’t like being a demon!”

                “That’s ‘cause you’re not doing it right.”

                “No, that’s because _you_ made the Transcendence happen and _you_ got us both stuck in the wrong forms!”

                “Well, if you and your dumb, dead sister hadn’t tried to sto-“

                Alcor grabs him by the collarbone. He drags him in close with void-black claws as blue fire and gleaming golden brickwork races across his form; his mouth opens wide, wider, wider, triple rows of fangs bared at the soul-

                He’s still smiling, Alcor notices. _He’s still smiling._

 _He wants this_.

                Alcor freezes, and the soul’s expression quickly sours.

                “Really? Not even after that? Wow, you really are doing this demon thing wrong.”

                It takes a superhuman effort to let the soul go, but he does, slowly, growling all the way. He doesn’t lift the void from his form, and when he speaks he lets the reverb in his voice rattle the very fabric of the Mindscape.

                “H͏̟͙̜o̢̳w̖͔͖ d̝̜a̬̣̩̦̣r̥̹̤̟̣͉͟e  ̼͔̹͘y̼̟ͅo̢̬̫͈̞u̟͞.̧̞” He thunders. T̩̖h̻̻̯i̜̣̜̩͉̮s͞ ̮͎͍i̭̞̯̩s n͖͙̗̟̙̜͔͘o͉̭͉̹̺t̖̘̯̟͡  y̘͡o̱̟͖͓͘u͍̝̙̭̮r  ̵̗͎̪̟̲l̹i̥̟͡f͢e ͙̩t͚͔̪͙͝o̵̰ ̧̻̦͍t̴̯a̰̤̲̰k̷͍̪̪e̗̬̘̬͚̫.”

 

                The soul winces. Turns away.

                “Iţ̬̘̺̗̩ ̥͈b̙͕̜̞͉̱e̷̗̦̜̖l̯̠̩̖̝̗̭o̹͜n̶̮gs͍̙̠ ̜͈̜̝̦̹͘t̰̹̘͟o̥̭̫ B̼̩̟̻̫̞̖E̯͎̯͎̞̳Ṉ̕. D̨o̷̻͇̖̝͖ ͚̝͍͚y̢̬̳̼̫̖̘̹o̙u̘̭̝̯ ̜̙̯̪͈u̗̳̺̦̕n̼̬d͙̭ͅe͟r̟͓͇̪͕̤͢ͅs͏̳̼̰̮̥͈̻t̡̮̱͕a̦͕͍͉ͅͅn͟d̹̗?͔̱ ̠̝̣͇͉̟̖YOU͇̝̘̯ L̨̞̻̟̰̤̣̙͉O͠S̖̙͎T̸͏̭̠̲̱̗̖.̛”

 

                “I lost.” Says the soul.

                “Y̳̟̭̮͔͟O͏͕̩͚̳̹̯͕U̟ ̮͍̙L̹Ọ̢ͅS̳̬̕ͅṬ̜̱̱͕̠̱. ̳͈̯̟̻͍̮IT͉̹̲̲̖̞'̛̭̝S ̻B̢͔̳̗E̢N͈̙̣̺͇͚'̝̬̱S̘͍̭̰̫̩̤ ̰Ḷ̙I̳̰̞̺̥̯F͏͇͈̜̼E͍͉̹̤̳̱͟ͅ ̷͙͕̘̰ͅN̛̰O͜W̰͢, A̯̘̯̻̗͟N͍̫D͙͇̼͓̪̟̖ Y̵OỤ̲̳̜̱ ̥̝̪M̷̯͉̺͍A̬͚Y͕̥͍͚͈͞ ͚͘N̳͎O͈T͖̮ ͓̺̹͖͍I̗̺̤̭͈N̖̯̳̺̗̖̺T͇̯͉͖͞E͎̗͎̱̰̭̯R͘F̖̯͔E̫̮͟R̮̫͈̞̗E̙̤̭͉̩̖.̯̥͇͖̥̱͞ ̰̼Y̛̞͕͇̹͉O̺͍̙̭͜U̜ ̲M͏̙͉̗AY̗͕̭̞͖̼͝ ̲͕̤N̟̟̕O̡T̷̙̬ ̜͚̻̱̺͕TR̷͍͎̳͈ͅY͇̝̰͡ ̹͉͓̯̩̪̰͞A̸̙̻̜̱̗͉N͇̳̹̬͖̦ͅD͇͔̞̰̳̭͈͜ ̲̣̪͕K̟̼I̞͔L̪̭̖̞͉ͅͅL ̗͈̫H̭̙͙̬̥̫͕I͖͢Ṃ̕.̲̰̻̻͕̤ ̝͜D̤̫̕O ̺̞͉̩͚͓Y̦͎̟̣̰͡ͅỌ̗͞U̖̮̫̝̖͍͓ ̻̼̱̖̘U̷͇͙͚N̴̟̪̲̪D̰̞̞E̢̥̥R͙͘S̴̫̗̮̭T̖̖̳̝A̪N̤͇̫̲̲D̫̭͉̣̠͓?̡͉̣̦̗̱”

 

                The soul says nothing. Alcor growls.

                “ **D̸̺͙͔͓̠͎͔O̢͔͍̱̜̙̜̣ ̸̝̖Y̠̳͚̻͈͢O̮U̼͍̳̣̗̭̱ ͉̠̙̮̥U̺͕̰̯̞͕͞N̴͇͔̫̬D̲͇͙̺̝̣̘͠E͓̫̳̦̬̭͎R͈̤͇̜͈͚ͅȘ̩̙̰̻͉͢T̶̥A̤ND̟̱̹̱͍͠?̵̫** ”

 

                The soul looks up at him. Just stares for a while, no smirk on his face, no clench in his fists. Not much of anything; he slumps against his knees, and he almost looks dead. Alcor shifts his feet.

                “W͠ell?͡”

                The soul sighs, and finally he looks away. Rests his chin on his arms. One hand hangs down and holds a roll of intestine, squeezing it off and on like it’s a stress ball.

                He mutters something. Pauses. Alcor leans forward, and he says it louder.

                “It’s my life. You keep saying it’s my life. It’s my life, don’t interfere.” The soul’s chin sinks lower. “It’s not my life, though. It’s everyone else’s life, and I’m sick of it.”

                “What are you talking about? Bill?”

                “ _I’m not just Bill_.”

                Alcor freezes.

                “I wasn’t ever planning anything. I just wanted everything to go back to normal.” The soul clenches his fist. “But you don’t care. I’m just a problem to you, aren’t I? You just wanted me out of your hair – you went, ‘here, take this stupid necklace and that’ll fix everything.’ And then when it didn’t fix everything, all you could think about was Bill, and _screw me_ for trying to question you, because…”

                Clenches tighter, tighter… and then slumps down with a sigh.

                “I get it. I do. I'm more trouble than I'm worth. You don’t want Bill wandering around the Mindscape, and me, my problems... they just don't matter as much to you.” Slumps lower. Lower. “ _But I can’t do this._ It’s day in, day out, nothing to do, no point to anything… so just let me go, okay? It works out for both of us.”

                Alcor shakes his head. “No, I’m not gonna-“

                “Why not?”

                There’s an edge to his voice, a tired anger that makes Alcor take a step back. He stammers for words.

                “Well, you… you’re not… I never meant to make you feel like-“

                “Like what? A liability?”

                “What? No, I… I just wanted to help you.”

                “Help me?” The soul lets out a barking laugh. “You were _giddy_ to see me so close to death! Why don’t you just admit you don't want to deal with me?”

                “I-“

                “If you’d found me dead, you would’ve been happy. It’s only because I wanted to die that you started to have second thoughts. _Admit it_ , Alcor.”

                Alcor just gapes at the soul, at a loss for words. He watches the soul toy with his innards, looping it up and over his head like a gruesome necklace.

                “That’s answer enough,” says the soul, after a long silence. “Can I go now?”

 _And he sounds almost bored_ … Alcor takes a step forward. He still has no idea what to say; his mind is racing, and now it’s throwing up images of a lady sitting next to a hospital bed, face damp and clammy with tears- Yes! Yes, talk about that!

                “Ben, wait.”

                “I’m not just Ben either, you know.”

                “Well- look, just listen, okay? Please?” He watches the soul let out a frustrated huff. He doesn’t protest, though, so Alcor continues. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I… I didn’t pay attention to you when you told me about the necklace. I should’ve found something else-“

                “Something worse.”

                “No. No, something that’d work for you while still keeping you safe. But I didn’t, and I’m sorry.”

                “Great apology.” The soul deadpanned. “I feel _all_ better now. Can I go, or is there more?”

                “No. Okay, Bill- Ben… _kid_ , maybe I put you in this position, but you can’t just go back to the reincarnation cycle, okay?”

                “Why not? Because you say so?”

                “Because maybe you don’t realize, but you do have people who care about you.”

                No snarky retort. Alcor shuffles forward.

                “Your mother, she’s in the hospital right now, waiting for you to wake up. She’s worried.” He grimaces. “Very, very worried. She loves you, kid. She loves you a lot.”

                The soul’s gone very still. He reaches out.

                “Come on, let me take you back to her. What do you think about that?”

                “What do I think about that?” The soul turns, and looks at him. His voice is quivering with anger; it’s quiet, and then it builds. “I think I’m kind of sick of _always looking out for her_!”

                Alcor shrinks back. The soul surges forwards, stabbing a finger at him as he yells, “It’s always been about _her_! Everything I’ve been doing has been to make _her_ feel better! I didn’t go to the hospital when I was getting attacked by a literal demon because I was worried about how _she’d_ feel! And now you’re telling me I haven’t been doing enough?!”

                “That’s not what I-“

                “But that makes sense, right? I’m only here to be useful to other people, right?” The soul lets out a snarl. “I can’t have _anything_ to myself, I should just suck it up and deal. Well, I won’t, okay? Not anymore. I-I can’t… I can’t take it anymore.”

                His voice cracks, and he sinks down again. Alcor watches him with wide eyes; he opens his mouth, but the soul cuts him off.

                “Just don’t, okay.” His voice is terribly flat. “I don’t want to think about her.”

                He puts his head in his hands, then, and silence falls. Terrible silence. Alcor can still feel himself reeling from the outburst; he’d gone about this all wrong. At every step, through every word and action… he’d failed this kid.

                There’s a sound. A shuddering of the soul’s shoulders.

                He’s crying. Oh, look what you’ve done. Alcor sucks in a breath, and wonders what on earth he’s going to do now. He can't leave, he has to help, _somehow_. The kid hates him, but… who else is going to?

                Words are failing him today, so he doesn’t speak. He sits down next to the soul, and he can see the quick glance, the guarded frown, the half-shuffle away. He doesn’t say anything, and Alcor doesn’t say anything, and slowly the soul settles back down.

                The void of the Mindscape looms before them. Alcor notices he sat down on a pile of rubble, but now it’s a ledge, a long fall to darkness just below his feet.

                A tap on his shoulder. Or more of a brush; the soul bumps against him in a move that feels almost intentional, and Alcor shudders at the squelch of intestines. He suppresses it as best he can, and then he reaches out.

                His hand just barely touches the soul, and he collapses onto Alcor. The little quiet sobs grow loud now, and there’s a tug on his suit and a wet spot quickly bleeding through to his shirt; Alcor blinks, once, and then wraps his arms around the soul, lightly at first, but tighter, tighter-

                like he never wants to let the soul go. Never again.

                Alcor holds him, lets him cry. Ignores the unpleasant squish of intestines against his suit. Doesn’t react when sometimes his sobs turn to laughter, and his fists pull at fabric like they want to rip it all off.

                He just holds the soul, lets him cry, lets him sob and scream and wail and laugh it all out until there’s nothing left, and the soul is still, and the silence falls once again.

                The void of the Mindscape stares at Alcor, and slowly he stands, clutching the soul in his arms like a sleeping child.

                The ledge beckons him. He takes a step forward, and his foot finds solid ground. His ears pick up beeps of a heart monitor and echoing chatter down a hallway; he looks, and sees a plaque on the wall in front of him:

 _Room 657_ , it reads. He watches a nurse in scrubs walk out of the door, and he slips inside.

                It’s white in here. White walls, white bed, harsh white light. White bandages on a figure in a white hospital gown. White flowers, held by a woman sitting on a white chair with trembling fingers. White aura, burning with fear as she looks at the bed.

                _Beep, beep, beep_ , goes the heart monitor, and Alcor bows his head. He makes his way to the figure lying still on the bed. He grips the soul a little tighter, and then he holds him out.

                Holds him over the figure. Lowers him down, gently, gently, and there’s a blinding white light as the soul slips into the body, tattered edges flaring up and then getting sucked in…

                And beneath all the bandages, Ben lets out a long, shuddering sigh. The woman’s head shoots up. Alcor watches her drop the flowers and take his hand, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, whispering words to Ben in a teary tone, words meant only for his ears.

                This is a very private scene. Alcor feels dirty just standing in the room; he's intruding. He takes a step back and phases through the wall, finding himself in the hallway once again. There’s a couple chairs, here.

                He sits.

                And he waits.

                And he thinks.


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

 

                …

        

* * *

       

                A crick in his neck. An ache in his back. Somewhere above him, an air conditioner whirrs, and sends goosebumps up his arm. It’s quiet. Contemplative. And it would be peaceful, but-

                A pen clicks.

                Ben is not alone. He sighs.

                “Sorry. I’m… still bad at this.”

                “That’s alright,” says the therapist. “You don’t have to talk.”

                A particularly chilly breeze brushes over him, and he shivers. Furrows his brow.

                “Seems kind of pointless to be here, then.”

                A pause. “That’s-“

                “I want to- oh, I interrupted you! I’m sorry.”

                “It’s okay. What were you going to say?”

                “No, no, you first.”

                “Ben.” The therapist says his name with gentle warmth. “You’re a very sweet kid, but it’s my job to listen to you. Don’t worry about me.”

                Ben shrinks back a little. He can hear some scratching noises, like a pen on paper. Another clicking sound, then:

                “Would you like me to start off by asking you some questions?”

                “That would be good, I think.”

                “Okay.” She says. Another pen click. “So, Ben, last time we met, you had just gotten home from the hospital.”

                Ben nods.

                “How are you finding the transition?”

                Her tone is carefully neutral - no inflections to tell him what she’s thinking, what he should be saying. He hesitates for a while, thinking over his words, and only the air conditioner fills the silence between them.

                “It’s good.” He manages. Then he adds: “It’s been good. Home is better than the hospital. It’s less busy.”

                “Less busy, definitely.”

                “It’s still pretty busy though. We’re always driving off to all these appointments.” He sighs. “I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, but I kind of miss having free time. I used to have a lot, now I don’t really get any.”

                “Do you feel like you have any time to yourself?”

                “Uh… I dunno. Not really. Mom likes to, uh, keep a close eye on me.” His arm comes up to his chest, and presses against a necklace tucked under his shirt. Ben grimaces. “I get it. I get why… um. Yeah.”

                Silence. Pen scribbles. A cold weight on his chest, and a cold breeze from the AC. It feels like when he woke up in the hospital for the first time, and she was there, and she was crying and _you did that,_ _you made her cry like that…_

                He takes his arm away, and clears his throat.

                “But, uh, it’s still good! There’s good things. We started hanging out at the park – we’re, um, doing that today too. It’s nice there. Warm.” He tries for a smile. “Dunno what we’re gonna do when summer comes and it really starts heating up, but it’s pretty nice for now.”

                “That does sound nice. What do you do there?”

                “Mostly we just sit. I mean I can’t really… do much, right now.” Ben shrugs. “But it’s not bad? I mean, we just kind of talk.”

                “What do you talk about?”

                “Uh, lots of stuff, actually. The other day we were talking about, heh, this dumb advert that came on the radio while we were driving up there. Selling mattresses ‘three for the price of two!’ and we’re like, who needs three mattresses at the same time?” He chuckles a little. “Stuff like that. We haven’t just hung out like that in a while, not since… not since she lost her job.”

                The smile fades at that, and the memories come bittersweet. Staying up late over the weekends, drawing as he waited for her to come back from eight-hour shifts at the hospital… he didn’t mind walking home to an empty house back then. Somehow, it felt fuller than when she was there all the time.

                He remembers how he’d be in the living room, doodling dreams on his notebook. It’d be dark out, around twelve, and he’d hear a car pull into the driveway, see the headlights’ glare through the curtains. The door would creak open, and she’d be there in her mint-green scrubs with a box of takeout, he’d be _so happy to see her…_

                A pen click brings him back to the room. He remembers he’s not alone.

                “Anyway,” Ben says. “Yeah, we just talk a lot, about funny stuff like that… and, um, serious things, too. About my dre… um,” He touches his arm to the necklace again. “My nightmares, and the demon attack, and… yeah. It’s good. It feels good. I haven’t been this honest with her in a while.”

                Sitting on the couch, he remembers. Hearing funny stories from the hospital – often gross ones, as they’re prone to be, but Ben shares her sense of humour – showing her the things he’d sketched out from his dreams, talking and laughing together as the hours counted up to sunset. The darkness outside their windows was like a warm blanket, covering them from the rest of the world.

                He remembers that, and sighs.

                Maybe it was weird, how their little family used to operate. Maybe it wasn’t perfect; maybe sometimes the hospital stories weren’t funny and she was too exhausted to stay up long; maybe Dan used to laugh at it, used to raise his eyebrows and go, ‘Hanging out with your _mom_ over the weekend? Seriously?” with that mocking chuckle that made him feel so small and stupid.

                Despite all that… he’d go back in a heartbeat.

                The air conditioner shuts off, and now it’s very, very silent. Ben can hear a chair’s creaking as the therapist sits forward.

                “That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’re working on things with your mother.” Her tone shifts. “You mentioned your nightmares. How are you coping with those?”

                He frowns. “Huh?”

                “I know you used to draw them on your sketchbook. Do you have any other strategies you use to cope with that?”

                “Um, no.” Ben grimaces. “But it’s fine. I haven’t had any of those… in a while.”

                “That’s good to hear.”

 _Good to hear_. He feels the weight around his neck, and sinks down in his chair. “Yep. It’s great.”

                “I feel we should discuss some strategies to use if they start coming back again. Now, we’re just about ready to wrap up this session, so I can give you some suggestions…”

                Ben starts to tune her out. He nods at nothing in particular, he fiddles with his necklace, and he thinks about old dreams he doesn’t have anymore, old memories of happier times before it all went off the rails. He’s sitting in his chair, and he remembers how

                he sat on the couch, half-finished burritos from some Mexican place on the table before him.

                Next to him, his mom was holding his notebook. Loose papers slipped out when she opened it, and she looked at every one before putting them back.

                “These are good, Ben.” She said, after a moment. “Genuinely good. You’re turning into quite the little artist, aren’t you?”

                Ben remembers how he beamed at her words. She held one out to him.

                “What’s this one of?”

                “Oh, that’s, that’s from a dream I had… I think it was from Monday. It’s a hand… without any skin.”

                “I see.”

                “And it’s got a ring.” His smile turned apologetic. “I know it’s weird.”

                “It’s okay. It’s drawn really well – it looks realistic.” She chuckled. “And believe me, I would know. I have seen a degloving or two.”

                He laughed along with her as she turned a page. Her laugh faded faster than his, and she looked down, pinching her smile like she was thinking of the right way to say something.

                “These drawings,” she started. “These are all still from your little dreams, right?”

                “Yeah.”

                “How often do you see… stuff like this?”

                “Uh…” Ben shifted in his seat. “A lot. I mean, most days they’re kinda, um, strange.”

                She looked up at him. “Does it bother you?”

                His mouth clamped shut.

                “It’s okay, Ben. I know you’ve had these dreams for a while, but I guess I never realised how… well, real they were. It’s okay if you are, and we can find a way to get rid of them for you.” A twinkle snuck into her eye as she watched his face fall. “That doesn’t seem to be what you want, though.”

                He shook his head.

                “Okay.”

                “I mean, um, I know they’re kind of gruesome, but they’re not, they’re not bad. They’re just kind of weird, but I’m not hurting anyone in real life and-“

                “It’s okay, Ben.” She put her hand on his knee. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

                He watched her squeeze, and then take her arm back. Flip through the notebook again, and close it.

                “These are really good. You’re a talented kid, Ben, and I don’t ever want to take something from you that you like doing.” She handed it back to him. “Just remember that you can talk to me, okay? Not just about your dreams; if anything’s bothering you, if anything’s making you nervous or scared or sad or anything, I’m here, okay?”

                Ben nodded. “Okay,” He said, and he smiled. She smiled back.

                “As long as you remember that.” She rubbed her eyes. “And, uh, hey, I should get you…” One, long, yawn. “Sorry. I should get you a proper sketchbook or something, huh? To put all your drawings in. They’d look much better without those, those lines running through them.”

                “Oh, yes. Yes, that would be really good.”

                She nodded, her eyelids drooping. “Alright, I’ll do that. I’ll get you… one of those. Whoo, you know, I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer. I gotta go to bed before I spend the night on the sofa.”

                “Okay.” Ben reached out and hugged her. “Night, Mom. I love you.”

                “I love you too, Ben. Sorry I couldn’t stay up too long.”

                “No, no, it’s okay.”

                She squeezed him tight, and then let go. Leaning down, she picked up a cup of tea and walked to the kitchen, stirred three times and then dropped the spoon in the sink. With that, she went down the hallway to her bedroom, and disappeared.

                Ben was alone. He remembers being alone, flipping through his notebook, eating his dinner, all with a big beaming grin on his face that didn’t fade till the sun came up the next morning.

                He remembers, and it’s bittersweet.

                “Ben? Ben?”

                “Yes?” He says, to the therapist.

                “Does that sound like something you’d like to try?”

                Ben hesitates. He opens his mouth, then closes it and shakes his head.

                “To be honest, I haven’t really been listening to you. Sorry.”

                Pen click. Scribble, scribble.

                “Okay.” He braces for a telling off, but if she’s annoyed she doesn’t let it show. “We’re out of time today, but we’ll pick it up next week.”

                “Okay. Sorry.”

                “Don’t worry about it,” She says, and there’s the creak of her standing up from the chair. Her voice gets closer. “Well, it was very nice to speak with you again. We’re gonna go out into the waiting room, okay? Get you back to Mom.”

                He nods. There’s a jolt and then, he’s moving. Trundling down a hallway, turning right, going for a little longer, and then he stops. A buzzer sound, a creak- something bumps his shin.

                “Oh, I’m sorry! That was the door.”

                “It’s okay.” Ben says. He’s moved forwards a little more, and then there’s a voice.

                “Hi, sweetie!”

                Ben smiles. “Hi, Mom.”

                A tap on his shoulder. He reaches for a hug, and she hugs right back – not tightly, but he prefers it gentle when a thousand things are aching on his body. They stay like that for a second, and then pull back.

                “So,” his Mom says, “How was it?”

                He nods. “It’s good. We, uh, talked.”

                “Whoa. You talked in therapy?”

                Ben’s smile turns wry. “We did. It’s a revolutionary concept.”

                “Hah!” She pats his shoulder – pat, pat, pat. “Snarky today, aren’t you. Alright, same time next week?”

                “That sounds good.”

                “I’ll put you down for that,” says the therapist. “Very nice to see you, Ben, Mrs García. Have a nice day!”

                Ben waves.

 

* * *

 

                “So, how did it go?”

                They’re in the car. Ben is fumbling with the radio knob, and he freezes at the question.

                “Obviously you don’t have to tell me what you were talking about.” She adds. “But is it going well? Do you think it’s helpful?”

                He nods.

                “That’s good.”

                “Yeah, it is.”

                They fall into silence. All Ben seems to be getting is ads; he tunes it again and finds himself listening to a familiar mattress commercial.

                “This one again.” His mother snorts. “I swear they all go on commercial at the same time.”

                “Yeah… can you turn it off, please?”

                She presses something. It cuts out.

                “Thanks.”

                “No problem, sweetie.”

                He sits back. Silence falls again. The seat’s fabric is kind of fuzzy; it tugs at his clothes every time he shifts his back. It’s just the kind of minor annoyance that he notices when there’s nothing else to focus on.

                Nothing else to do.

                Once more, Ben notices he’s touching the necklace. It’s like his arm just finds itself up there sometimes, pressing the anchor charm against his chest and waiting for him to acknowledge the icy feeling seeping into his skin.

                He grimaces, and takes his arm away.

                “Mom?”

                “Yes?” She says. One word, but Ben hesitates at that.

                His mother doesn’t talk like the therapist. She doesn’t have that one neutral, unreadable tone – she has so many, all layered on top of one another, and Ben can flip through those pages and read every one.

                There’s that chipper tone on top, that coating of sugary lightheartedness laid on just a _little_ too thick as she tries to cover the dread underneath. There is dread, though; maybe not as much as there used to be, but it’s there, and it bleeds through to him.

                Dread, he thinks. He’s made her dread his questions.

                Ben clears his throat. “Um,” he starts, and then stops. “Uh, I was just gonna say, she’s still focusing a lot on the whole ‘intrusive thoughts’ thing we made up.”

                “Oh?”

                The dread’s gone – she’s just interested now. Even though it was just a flicker, it doesn’t change the fact that it was there in the first place. He takes a deep breath.

                “Yeah, it’s… not as close to the dream thing as I thought it would be?” A shrug. “At least the, uh, the advice doesn’t really… translate.”

                “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that, Ben. What was she telling you to do?”

                “This session I wasn’t really listening to her.” He hears a snort, and adds, “when she was talking about the intrusive thoughts. I was listening to her before that, and last time we met she was talking about ‘just accept your thoughts’, that kind of thing.”

                “And that’s not helpful to you.”

                “No. I mean, I don’t get the dreams anymore.” He doesn’t touch the necklace, but he can feel its weight around his neck. It makes him sigh. “And I never thought of them as… bad? I don’t know, I don’t… I don’t know how to put it.”

                “You miss them?”

                There’s a question at the end of her sentence, but it’s like her old chipper tone – just icing, just decoration. They both know it’s true.

                “Yeah.” Ben says, softly. “I guess I do miss having them. I… miss a lot of things.”

                The memories come again, more bitter than sweet: he remembers drawing in his room. Hanging out with Dan. He remembers staying up late with his mom, talking without dread, listening without guilt. He remembers going to bed, dreaming such wonderful, awful dreams. He remembers all the things that will never be the same.

                A hand on his leg, and he stiffens; there comes the guilt. Ben shuffles back, and his clothes catch on the fuzzy seat.

                “Anyway,” he continues. “I should probably make up something else. Something that’s relevant to my situation, but also won’t get me kidnapped by the government like Ian.”

                She gives a very, very nervous laugh at that. “Yeah, no kidnapping is the target! Definitely.”

                “Alcor said it was a really slim possibility.”

                “It’s still the word ‘possibility’ that gets me.” His mother barks out another laugh. “And the word ‘Alcor’. Every time you say his name it’s still _weird_.”

                “Yeah. Yeah, it is… weird.”

                A dip in the conversation. Ben can hear his mother drumming on the steering wheel – one two three, one two three, one two three. Ending on right, he imagines. The car’s going quite slow now; he can hear the crunch of tires on tarmac. They come to a stop, and then she shuts off the engine. They’re here.

                Ben goes for his seatbelt, but his mother starts talking.

                “So the lady you’re seeing,” she starts abruptly. “You like her?”

                “Yeah, she’s nice.” Ben shrugs. “It’s always kind of awkward? At least at the start, but it gets better once we start talking. Then I can sort of say… whatever, really. That’s cool.”

                “It does sound cool, actually.” His mother pauses, like she’s thinking something over. Then: “You know for the dream thing, maybe you could frame it differently?”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Don’t frame it as the dreams being the problem, more like, ‘Hey, I really miss this one thing I used to do. Could you give me some advice on how to deal with that?”

                Ben thinks it over for a moment. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea; I’ll bring that up to her. Thanks, Mom.”

                “No problem, sweetie.”

                A seatbelt clicks. Ben doesn’t think to undo his. “I could probably just talk about it like a hobby,” he says, mostly to himself. “Like drawing, I could say I miss that. Then it wouldn’t even be a lie – which would be good, I’m bad at lying.”

                He’s thinking out loud, not expecting a reply. Nevertheless, one comes.

                “Yeah.” His mother’s voice is quieter all of a sudden. Shakier. “Something… something like that.”

                Ben freezes. Every muscle in his body goes tense at the tone, at _that_ tone. He listens. He hears her take a breath. He hears her let it out with a shudder. Then he hears:

                “Ben, I-I’m so-“

                “Please stop saying sorry.”

                That’s Ben’s voice, but he doesn’t recognise it at first. It’s cold, curt, and the words seem to have come from somewhere deep in his chest, from a wound-up fist of hurt and anger lodged behind his ribcage that throbs like a second heart. He can feel it throbbing now, throbbing in his ears, he can feel it saying _NO_

_NO_

_I’M NOT DOING THIS AGAIN_

                That’s Ben’s voice. Ben’s feelings. He sits with them for a long moment as his mother composes herself.

                “Right,” She says, and hesitates. “I… Right.”

                “I love you.”

                “I love you too, Ben. I really do.”

                Another pause. Another silence, deeper now without the engine’s hum. She breathes in, and lets it out with a sigh.

                “I really, really do.” She tries for a chuckle, but there’s not much effort in it. “Maybe, uh, maybe I should see one of those… uh, you know, with the talking, like the lady you see, um…”

                “A therapist?”

                “Yeah.” Her voice is low, begrudging, almost embarrassed. “One of those. I mean, I’m fine, I’m pretty busy, I probably shouldn’t take anything else on, but, you know, it’s something to think about, I guess. Somebody to talk to sounds… well, you know, I’ll look it up. I’ll just look it up.”

                She clears her throat, and opens the door. A rush of hot air from the outside washes over Ben’s face.

                “Anyway, let’s get out of the car, huh? It’s getting stuffy in here.”

                Ben nods. It was getting stuffy – there’s so much stuff between them, and in a little car, in the span of a little conversation, it really piles up.

                “Let’s go to the park,” he says.

                And that’s what they do. They find a nice bench under the shade of trees, and sit. It’s not hot, it’s not cold. It’s not loud, but it’s not deathly silent either; Ben can hear the rustle of leaves, the faint quacking of ducks, and somewhere off to the right of him, judging by the shrieking laughter, he can hear some sort of kid’s ball game going on.

                It’s all very peaceful.

                …

                A little boring, but peaceful. It’s not bad.

                “Hey, Mom?”

                She’s speaking from right beside him. “Yes?”

                “What time is it?”

                “It’s three something, let me check… It’s three thirty- _oh, hi_.”

                Her voice shoots up an octave, and Ben frowns. His expression only deepens when he hears the reply.

                “Hello, Marie.” Alcor says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Hello, Ben. How, uh, how’re you doing?”

                Ben gives him a slight wave. His mother picks up from there with an icy tone.

                “He’s fine. What do you want?”

                Alcor pauses for a moment before answering. Ben can almost picture the scene; his mom’s there, arms crossed, while Alcor quails before her. It’s kind of comical.

                (It’s also not unrealistic. For a demon, Alcor’s quite skittish, and his mother has a _very_ effective death glare. She doesn’t bring it out often but when she does, people squirm.)

                “I, uh, I have something for him, actually. Look, it’s-“

                “Another necklace?”

                Another necklace? Oh, great.

                “Yes. Or, it could be a bracelet! You know, it’s magic and all, so-“

                “I already have a necklace.” Ben cuts him off. “And it’s fine. Why are you trying to give me another one?”

                “I know. This one’s different, though. I’ve been, uh, working on it for a while, and I think it’ll be better. Better for you.”

                He leans forwards. “Better, how?”

                “It’ll bring your dreams back.”

                Ben freezes at that. His breath catches in his chest. Surprise washes over him – _What_?

                “What?” His mother echoes his thoughts. “Wasn’t the entire point of the necklace to stop the dreams from happening?”

                “Yes. It was way too dangerous to have him wandering around the Mindscape on his own.” Alcor’s voice dips for a second. “Dangerous for him, not… anyway, the first necklace works fine, but I’ve been trying to come up with a better solution-“

                “But you just said the Mindscape was dangerous! Why are you trying to bring him back there?”

                “Because I found a way to do it safely.”

                “ _Safely_?” His mother’s shouting by now. “How on _earth_ is it supposed to be safe!”

                “It’s a complicated enchantment, but basically it lets him go-“

                “He’s not going anywhere! And he’s definitely not going to the bloody Mindscape, you-!”

                “Shhh, we’re in a park.”

                “Don’t shush me, I know we’re in a park.” She lowers her voice to a hiss. “We are not going to have anything else to do with the Mindscape, and I don’t appreciate you trying to bring it back in.”

                Ben clears his throat. “Can I say something?”

                Silence hangs for a moment. His mother sighs. “Ben…”

                “You didn’t even let him what it does. Please, Mom?”

                She makes an uncertain noise. “I don’t think… It sounds dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt, like…”

                “Like last time.”

                She doesn’t say anything. Ben ducks his head, and he feels that squeezing feeling in his chest again. He hears Alcor cough.

                “I’m sorry. I brought this up at completely the wrong time. I’ll go-“

                “No, don’t.” Ben makes a face. “It wasn’t the necklace that made what happened last time… happen. Alcor made it to help.”

                “I know.” His mother says. Her tone of voice, it’s quiet, sad, knowing. _Knowing_.

                It makes him cringe, because they both know what happened last time. They both know, and he doesn’t know how to fix that rift it’s caused. There’s probably no way to fix it; it’s been changed, it’s been broken, _and he changed it, he broke it, he hurt her and it’s all his fault-_

                A hand on his shoulder. Ben startles at the warmth. Startles at the voice.

                “Okay,” says his mother, slowly. “What does the necklace do?”

                And Alcor replies.

                “It teleports his soul to a room in my domain. The room is all set up, heavily warded, and he’s being teleported, so he won’t spend a second outside of it. It’s very, very safe; I’ve spent months on this.” He pauses, and then quickly adds. “But if you don’t want it, that’s totally fine. No pressure.”

                His mother squeezes his shoulder.

                “Well? What do you want, Ben?”

_What do you want? What do you want?_

                Ben leans forward.

                “Um…” He starts. “May I see it?”

 

* * *

 

                That could’ve gone better. Could’ve gone worse – much worse – but Alcor didn’t envision getting yelled at in a park by the  _very scary_ human as the best possible outcome. That was mostly his fault; he should’ve chosen a better time, should’ve delivered it a little more tactfully, should’ve, should’ve should’ve.

                He takes a deep breath. It’s not the time to think on that – he has places to be.

                Like a cube set on a meadow, surrounded by grazing nightmares. He’d call it a building, but it was utterly featureless on the outside. The door existed only as a pattern of wards to bypass, and it was difficult even for him to get through. He stood amongst the Flock for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration.

                That one… that one… that spell… this incantation… then he closes his eyes, and…

                He’s inside. Bland white walls greet him everywhere he looks, and he’s tense all of a sudden. Wound up like a spring, fists balled… he forces himself to relax.

                Okay. Ohhhkayyy.

                “This is fine. This is going to be fine.” He lets out a breath. “I’m talking to myself, but this is still fine.”

                Alcor… he may have lied a little when he said he’d been working for months. Don’t get him wrong – he checked _everything_ , he made the enchantment worked, made sure the building was secure, made double, triple, quadruple sure it was all safe before he even thought of giving the necklace to Ben…

                It’s just that he reached that point about two weeks into Ben being hospitalised. He’s an all-powerful demon working in the Mindscape; it was not very hard at all. The harder part is now, when someone who’s not just Ben is going to appear in front of him, and he’s going to have to explain.

                Alcor cringes. And then he’s going to have to leave. He’s going to have to _leave the soul alone – oh stars this is a terrible plan it’s going to go awfully wrong and-_

                Breathe. Breathe. Relax, again. He steadies his nerves, and stands still.

                Waiting.

                He doesn’t have to wait long.

                “Hello,” says the soul, who is suddenly there. “I’m in the Mindscape again.”

                Alcor nods. “Yes, you are. Hello.”

                He watches the soul look around the empty room. Frown.

                “Is this it? Gee, you couldn’t even put, like, a plant in the corner or something?”

                “Heh. No, I’ll explain-“

                “You’ve built me quite the little prison cell, haven’t you?” The soul fixes him with an unpleasant smile, his voice twisting into one that still sends a shiver down his spine. “Oh, Pinetree, you shouldn’t have. I _love_ breaking out of prisons.”

                “Bill.” He tries to keep his own voice steady. “This is going to be your space for as long as you’re having this out-of-body experience. You can make it as big as you like-“

                “Ooh, it's a fancy cell. Aren’t you generous.”

                “-and you can fill it with whatever  you want. The room is linked to your soul, so even as a human you’ll be able to mould it to your liking.”

                “Mould it to my liking, huh.” The soul’s grin stretches. “Maybe I’ll make a nice big living room. Mount your sister’s head over the mantelpiece.”

                Alcor considers his words for a moment. Then he turns, and walks away.

                The soul shouts after him. “Hey! Where are you going?”

                “Well, I explained how the room works, and you’ve obviously got big plans for it, so don’t let me get in your way.”

                “You’re just leaving like that, huh?” His voice drops to a growl. “You’d better be careful, Pinetree. I might follow you.”

                Alcor looks at him. “How are you planning to do that?”

                “You’re just asking? Oh, yeah, sure, let me tell you all my escape plans-“

                “You don’t have any plans.”

                The soul snorts. “You don’t know-“

                “And you don’t have any powers. The whole Mindscape knows you’re human now, so you don’t have any allies, either.” Alcor grins, and it’s not a pleasant grin. “You don’t scare me anymore, Bill.”

                He looks taken aback; his shocked expression quickly morphs to twisted fury.

                “You’re wrong! You’re an idiot, Pinetree! You’re going to regret underestimating me!”

                “Oh, don’t think for a second I’m underestimating you. I can keep a _very_ close eye on you here, believe me.” He starts out with a chuckle, and ends it on a sigh. “But I’m done being paranoid; all it does is hurt people I care about... People like you.”

                The soul stares at him. He smiles back.

                “Because you’re not just Bill, are you.”

                He watches the soul blink. Watches his posture change, his fists unclench. Watches him start to smile back – not Bill’s smile, but something warm, and friendly, and achingly familiar.

                “No, I’m not.” Says the soul. “Thanks, Dadrone.”

                Alcor holds his arms out, and the soul dashes over and wraps him up in a tight hug. He squeezes back, and with a hand he ruffles the soul’s hair. The soul makes a little miffed sound at that, and they both laugh for a moment.

                A fleeting moment. Then it’s quiet again, and Alcor squeezes tighter still.

                “This isn’t a prison,” He murmurs. “You can do anything you want in here, you can make it as big as you like – it’s the Mindscape, physics isn't a problem. It’s pretty much a TARDIS in here.”

                He chuckles at his own joke, but the soul doesn’t laugh.

                “Thank you,” is all he says. Then he pulls away, and there’s not so much recognition in his eyes now. Alcor feels that in his heart.

                “Well,” he starts, and wipes his eyes. “I’m going now.”

                “Goodbye.”

                “Goodbye.”

                Alcor takes a step back, and disappears. He’s not with the Flock, he’s not even in his territory, but he's floating somewhere deep in the Mindscape. Floating, and watching.

                He watches the soul look around the room again. It touches the wall, and pulls a section of it out – it stretches like putty, and when the soul lets go it drops limp on the floor.

                The soul smiles… and then frowns. It thrusts a hand into the wall and rips down – ragged strips of white come away like chunks of flesh. He tears deeper, and the wall starts to bleed and stain his hands. Deeper, deeper, blood going from a trickle to a gushing… and no end in sight. No escape.

                The soul staggers back, panting. He’s wading in red, and for a moment he kicks his feet and watches it slosh around. Then he steps down, and dries his feet on the carpet.

                A red, shaggy carpet. The soul sits down on a barstool, and leans over the counter. Gestures to a figment of his imagination busy cleaning beer glasses – it slides an empty one over to him.

                Alcor watches the soul drink from it, and lean back against the leather of a seat booth. He watches, and lets a smile snake across his face.

                So, he recreated the Midway Bar. That’s miles better than the living room idea he started with.

                Sitting back on nothingness, Alcor turns his attention to the physical world. In a neighborhood, in a house, in a bedroom, in the dead of night, a body sleeps. Its chest rises and falls, its heart beats, its neurons fire, and yet he can’t suppress a shudder at how _empty_ it is, without a soul.

                Around its wrist, a bracelet hangs. A little, metallic blue charm rests in its open palm: it’s shaped like a ship’s wheel, intricately detailed, and catching the light from a half-opened bedroom door.

                It’s peaceful, Alcor thinks. He’s peaceful, here and in the Mindscape.

                For the first time in a long while, Ben can sleep soundly.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for suicide and themes of self harm.


End file.
